The room went silent.
I thought about our mother.
She had died when we were young, after a long illness that the family had always described in vague terms. Vanessa and I had been told that it was an unfortunate medical complication. We had never been given the full details.
I had assumed that was because our mother wanted us to remember her life rather than her illness.
Now I wondered whether there had been more to it.
“Does this mean you have cancer?” I whispered.
Vanessa shook her head quickly.
“No. They haven’t diagnosed me with cancer. I went for testing because of something they found during a routine examination. The doctors need to investigate further, and they recommended genetic counseling because of Mom’s history.”
I exhaled shakily.
“Then why were you crying?”
“Because I’m scared.”
Her voice cracked.
“I’m scared that something is wrong. I’m scared that I’ll have to go through treatment. And I’m scared that you’ll blame me for keeping it from you.”
