...there were two francophiles: mother Margot and daughter Catherine.
On the first day France beckoned. They were filled with the urge to traverse the globe and embrace fromage bleu, vin rouge, haute couture and landscapes worthy of Margot's impressionist brush and Catherine's appareil photo. They imagined this and it was good.
On the second day passports were dusted and airline tickets purchased. They saw this and it was good.
On the third day suitcases were brought in from storage, clothes laid out and travel plans finalised. They saw this and it was good and their joy was palpable.
On the fourth day a tiny lump appeared upon the breast of the Mother. It was felt and it did not feel good and her terror engulfed her.
On the fifth day a breast cancer diagnosis was confirmed. They saw this and it was not good and their joy subsided into devastation.
On the sixth day all travel plans were cancelled. They saw this and said it was not meant to be.
On the seventh day they rested. Margot upon a hospital bed. Later to be called a cancer survivor.
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