Page 50 of I’m Already Gone

“Ollie’s napping. Maddy is spending the day with her friends, and Jake is working,” I reply, leading them into the living room. They sink onto the couch, their posture stiff, looking expectantly at me.

“Lily, what’s going on?” Mom begins. “You never call us during the week to come over like this.”

I sit on the edge of the coffee table directly across from them, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I take a deep, shaky breath and repeat in my head, I can do this. I can do this. I have to do this. For my children. For Sam.

“Mom, Dad. I… I have stage three breast cancer.”

There it is. The truth, raw and brutal, hangs in the air between us. It feels like a load has been taken off my shoulders, but the sorrow that follows is a crushing tide. I see the tears in their eyes glimmering, then spilling. Mom lets out a choked gasp and leans into Dad, burying her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Dad’s arm goes around her instantly, his own face contorting with grief, his jaw tight. He stares at me, unable to speak.

After a few moments, Mom lifts her head, her face blotchy and wet. “Have you… have you started treatment?”

“Yes,” I manage to say.

Mom wipes the tears with the back of her hand, her gaze still fixed on me. Dad clears his throat, his voice rough. “Are you going alone?”

I shake my head slowly. “No. Sam has been taking me.”

“Sam?” Mom asks, a flicker of surprise, then understanding, in her eyes. “Of course, she knows.”

I give a nod. Mom and Dad understand that Sam and I have shared an unbreakable sisterly bond since we were children.

“Honey,” Mom says, her voice gaining back its strength. She reaches across the space between us, her hand finding mine, squeezing it. “I know how much your sister loves you and wants to be there for you, but… please, let us take care of that. Your father and I are retired. We have the time. We can look after the kids and things around the house. Let Sam focus on her studies.”

“And we’ll take you to your appointments, Lilypad,” Dad adds. The nickname, a comfort from my childhood, breaks something inside me.

My jaw aches from clenching it as I fight back tears.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom coos. She comes and holds me tight against her chest. “Everything is going to be okay. You’re not alone. We’re not going anywhere.”

I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder, and I let go.

She cries along with me, her own tears soaking my hair, and she strokes my back, murmuring reassurances. “We will fight this together.”

I exhale a shuddering sigh of relief, the kind that empties your lungs and your soul, knowing that I did the right thing. Now it’s time to tell my children and Ethan.

“You need to call Dad now,” Jake demands.

“Jake. Please keep your voice down so you don’t wake up Ollie,” I respond.

“Mom.”

“No, Jake. I will not call your father tonight.”

“Why?” He practically spits the word, his frustration boiling over.

“Because it’s late, Jake.”

“I think that’s crap, Mom, and you know it!” he snaps, trying to walk past me, but I grab his arm.

“Hey, don’t do that,” I say softly. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“I’m mad, Mom! I’m so damn angry, okay!” he screams, wrenching his arm free, his eyes blazing with unshed tears and pure rage.

“It’s not fair that this is happening to you! And now you’re dying! You’re dying!” His voice cracks on the last word. His knees buckle, and he collapses into my arms, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“Don’t die. Please, Mom, don’t die.” His sobs tear through me. Tears stream down my own face as I hold him tight, rocking him.

“Shh, baby. I’m not dying. I told you, I’m going to fight this.”