I simply wrote the truth.
Then I sent the message.
David reached across the table.
“That was your decision.”
I nodded.
“And it didn’t cost twenty-two billion dollars.”
He gave a sad smile.
“No.”
“It only cost me twenty-nine years of pretending.”
We sat quietly until Hannah returned to check Leo’s vital signs.
The numbers had improved slightly.
Not enough for celebration.
Enough for hope.
Later that afternoon, Eleanor called again.
I almost ignored her.
Then I decided there was one conversation I needed to finish.
I stepped into a quiet family room while David remained beside Leo.
When I answered, my mother’s voice sounded strained.
“Clara, this situation has become completely unacceptable.”
I looked through the window at the gray morning sky.
“Leo is still critically ill.”
“Of course, and I’m very sorry he’s having difficulties.”
I closed my eyes.
“Difficulties?”
“Clara, don’t start.”
