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My heart hammers against my rib cage, each beat echoing with dread. “What is it then?” My voice barely rises above a whisper, fear claws my throat and pushes at my lungs. I’m unable to breath as I wait for him to tell me what’s happening.
“There’s a growth in your brain,” he says gently. The words hit me like a physical blow, reverberating through my body. My breath catches in my throat, the room seems to spin, and a cold, numb feeling spreads through me. A brain tumor. The words resonate in my head, each repetition like a hammer striking an anvil.
Dr. Levinson’s voice fades into the background, his medical explanations becoming a distant hum as shock overtakes my senses. My hands are cold, my vision blurs slightly at the edges, and there’s some hollowness settling in my stomach. It’s as though time has slowed down, each second stretching out endlessly as I grapple with the reality of his words.
The room feels smaller, as if it’s closing in on me. I glance at Gabe, who’s sitting rigidly by my side, his hand squeezing mine. The warmth of his touch is a contrast to the icy wave of fear that’s sweeping over me.
Dr. Levinson speaks of arranging appointments with an oncologist and a neurologist, his tone professional yet empathic, as if he trained to be understanding during his years in medical school.Soft words while telling a person that she might die, or not. It’s really all relative if we find the right treatment.
“It’s crucial that you have support during this time,” he advises, casting a glance between me and Gabe. “Therapists, family . . .”
Family, I almost snort at the thought of what just happened. I don’t even know if I have one. Will my father care if I tell him what’s happening?
All I manage is a nod, though the words seem to float around me, barely penetrating the fog of my shock.
“We’ll discharge you today. Make sure to fill all the prescriptions and rest,” he says before leaving the room.
As Dr. Levinson’s footsteps recede down the hallway, the full impact of his words begins to take hold. The diagnosis of a brain tumor feels both unreal and frighteningly immediate. My mind races with countless questions, each one more daunting than the last. When did this begin? What does this mean for the life I’ve envisioned? The room seems to swirl. I need answers but I can’t find any.
“Ameline,” Gabe’s voice is distant. I don’t know if it’s me or him. “I can’t wrap my head around this. But remember, I’m here with you, through everything. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“Cedric,” I mumble. “Maybe Cedric will come and help. He’s my big brother. Can you call him and Izzy? Tell them what happened with Dad, please. There has to be an explanation.”
The little girl in me is hoping that all that was a mistake. Maybe this is a nightmare. The moment I wake up, Dad will be next to me. He’ll tell me I overworked myself and there’s no tumor and he loves me because I’m his little girl. The baby of the family.
“I’ll check on him. Don’t worry about anything,” he says.
Gabe steps out for a call, leaving me alone with a whirlwind of thoughts. Thankfully, my head isn’t hurting. It’s probably all the medications they pumped through my IV. What if I stay here for another day or two: just me, the pain meds and oblivion?
Gabe returns looking troubled. He takes my hand. “I spoke to your brother.” He pauses, pressing his lips and glancing toward the ceiling before he continues, “Apparently the part about your father not actually being your biological dad . . . it’s true.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of anguish washes over me.
Gabe continues, “Cedric said your fa—Richard—has forbidden him and Izzy from contacting you again. They’ll following his orders. Though, he suggests we move your things out of the studio right away, before Richard confiscates everything.”
The room feels like it’s closing in on me. My dad, the man who raised me, might take away my belongings? It’s hard to wrap my head around it. It’s true, there’s a sudden twist in my family’s narrative. I’m not a part of it. They’re erasing me.
“But I’m their sister.” My voice comes out almost like a squeak.
“Sorry,” Gabe mumbles. “We have to clear your studio though.”
My studio? Just for a moment I worry about it, but what really hurts is losing my father.
Dad.
Cee and Izzy.
What am I supposed to do without them?
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was going to ask for forgiveness after helping my mother. Suggest family therapy so we could heal from her abandonment, and . . . what am I supposed to do now?
Gabe studies me intently. “Come stay with me for now,” he urges. “Just until we figure things out. Maybe Richard just needs some time.”
“But he’s my dad. He’s always been my dad,” I whisper, the words a mix of disbelief and pain. “Why would he do this? Even if I wasn’t his biological daughter, he loved me as his. You don’t just push a child away like that after an adoption, do you?”
“He probably needs time,” Gabe says reassuringly. “But right now, we need to focus on your health and protecting what’s yours. I’ll help you.”
I feel a mix of sadness, confusion, and a growing sense of urgency. “Where am I supposed to go? I don’t think I can afford the rent of my studio apartment, or any place.”
