The air was still, tinged with the chills of winter months to come. For now, the skies were a clear, dark blue. Hues of pink, however, were just beginning to emerge over the glassy water. Peeking through the endless rows of ancient pines, who were standing tall with arms outstretched, as if to bask in the warm pink rays. Tucked within the limitless forest was a tiny cottage, worn from countless summers and enough memories to last a lifetime. The floorboards were rough and stained in a seemingly permanent layer of mud from the thousands of shoes stomping over them, returning from a long hike through the trees. Dark rust covered the once lustrous hinges of the faded door, which now opened with a loud creak as tiny feet pattered through its entryway, racing towards the docks and the promise of a dive in the crystal waters of the secluded lake. The morning was silent, no longer echoing with the giggles of mischievous children or the bubbling chatter of a campfire. Nearly all was still.

A frail woman rocked slowly on a worn chair, the blue of its legs chipping to reveal the oak beneath. Each one of her tense movements drew out a groan of protest from the ancient chair as its rusted nails struggled to hold in place. The creaking noises piercing the silent morning were faintly audible through the constant buzz of her hearing aids, but it was as if she couldn't hear them at all. Marianne gazed through the worn screens of the old house, holes scattered throughout the scene as the small metal weave had continuously unravelled through the years. Her tired eyes strained behind her dull tortoiseshell spectacles, struggling to grasp the full extent of the beauty in front of them, as they had done so many times before.

The immense trees stood outside her window, where just beyond, crystal waters splashed inaudibly, glinting with rose hues, as the early morning rays masterfully painted the tides. Its youthful light illuminated all within its reach, and the once toneless leaves shown with a new palette of shades. The morning dew shimmered illusively like millions of diamonds, even the crumbling docks were basking in the glow, displaying a beauty they had never had. Marianne leaned forward in her creaking chair, as if the glorious rays could penetrate the dark walls of the porch and cast their light upon her wrinkled skin and dimmed eyes.

The old woman's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the opening of the boisterous green door, which connected the old porch to the warm kitchen. Marianne slowly reached a frail hand up to the dial of her hearing aids, twisting the knob to elevate her perception of her surroundings. The elderly woman slightly cocked her head to the side as she registered the soft rustling noises of her granddaughter opening cabinets. An earthy coffee aroma permeated Marianne’s fair nose, alerting her to the presence of her ritual morning coffee. Her lips curled to a soft smile as she visualized the scene within the bright kitchen, composed vividly with the years of routine. Each morning, she would watch the sunrise with Betty, her frail hands wrapped around the warm security of the plain white mug. Marianne let out a soft chuckle, as she recalled the ridiculous colors of Betty's favorite mug. It was comprised of a myriad of vivacious colors, and was nearly as bubbly as the lively child herself.

“Good morning, Granny!” came the familiar call of a chipper voice, causing the old woman’s wrinkled lids to open in a flash. The young girl pushed against the large green door with her back, careful not to spill either of the familiar mugs in her grasp. The Slowly, the triangular sliver of light painted a yellow stroke into the otherwise darkened porch, widened to reveal the child. Just as Marianne had expected, Betty was holding their usual morning coffee cups, and she could see the light brown tracks where coffee had splashed over the edge of the bright mug, no doubt due to the lively skip Betty often unconsciously had in her step. The old woman's eyes connected with her granddaughter’s gleaming blue ones, their light easily outshining that of the mug and nearly taking her breath away. The young girl smiled like the morning sun: bright and contagious, even the darkness of the porch deemed to diminish just slightly as Betty stepped across its floor. A small knot began to form in the old woman's chest but she brushed it away, replacing it with a restless smile as her trembling hand accepted the white mug.

Betty sat on her own chair, her hand holding gently onto the colorful cup of coffee, steam rising from it and curling towards her face as she gazed before her. Her perceptive eyes took in the beauty of the gleaming forests, and the rosy crests of waves surfacing the crystal lake.

“Isn't it beautiful? I just love watching the sunrise like this,” Betty whispered, as if to preserve the delicate calm of the morning air. Marianne looked not at the scene beyond the worn screens, but at the sliver of sun illuminating the the endlessly blue eyes of her granddaughter. Love swelled within her strained heart, before compressing once more into the tight ball of nerves. The old woman sighed knowing what must eventually come out, that this morning was unlike the many others they had shared.

However when Marianne opened her wrinkled lips the only words that seemed to escape were, “I know, sweetheart. I can't stop admiring the way the sun paints the sky.” Betty turned towards her grandmother and grinned as she continued, “It’s like art.”

Marianne grimaced internally, knowing that eventually the truth must come out, but couldn't bring herself to say it. As if the facade of simply admiring the scene around her could enable her to pretend she was ok, like they could enter the painting just outside the screen and live in it endlessly. The old woman felt her dull eyes begin to water behind the strong frames of her spectacles, and all too suddenly she felt completely, utterly, out of control. Betty’s brows drew together in concern, as she noticed the subtle distress of the older women, yet her eyes gazed stubbornly down at the coffee in her lap. She could feel the palpable tension filling the air and knew that there was no use prying, for her grandmother was never one to keep secrets.

Practically on cue, Marianne coughed quietly, like the soft crunch of autumn leaves,  to alert her granddaughter that there was more to their meeting than usual. In the past the two could sit for hours, enjoying the tranquil silence of the morning, watching the sun rise as if they were the only two people in the world. But, eventually those in the surrounding cabins would wake up, and the hustle and bustle of the day would ensue. The frail woman would finally break the unadulterated calm, like the first man revving up his car, for ultimately the sun must rise, and all things come to light.

“Betty,” she began softly. “I-I have something I need you to know.” Marianne could already see the tears of apprehension forming in the eyes of her granddaughter. Her head was still bent over the bright mug, small circles appearing on the surface of the dark liquid and the quiet sniffling the only indication of her impending devastation.

“Don't say it,” Betty muttered, her voice choked with emotion. Marianne wished with all her frail heart that she could abide by the wishes of her granddaughter; however, she knew that nothing can truly be hidden. Denial would only provide temporary relief.

The old woman took in a deep rasping breath, like the cool breeze blowing through the worn screen, before uttering her final words.

“I have cancer.”

In that moment, she saw the beautiful scene outside the frayed screen crumble before the eyes of her granddaughter. After an endless silence, Betty finally redirected her gaze to Marianne, the light of her once gleaming eyes replaced with a dim gaze.