“Eliam,” I whispered, “what is happening to my sister?”
He took my hand.
“I think you should let her tell you tomorrow.”
I pulled my hand away.
“I have spent eleven years trusting you. I need you to understand that you don’t get to decide what truths I’m allowed to know.”
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
It was the first honest thing he had said all day.
Vanessa arrived the following afternoon.
She stood at my front door holding the same blue folder I had seen outside the medical center.
Her eyes were swollen, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept.
When I opened the door, she tried to smile.
It didn’t work.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
She sat at the kitchen table, placed the folder in front of her, and began twisting a tissue between her fingers.
I sat opposite her.
“Vanessa, please. Just tell me.”
She looked at me.
