Chapter 37 The Pattern
We did not sleep.
Damian lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. I lay beside him, my hand on his chest, feeling his heart race. The text from Dr. Harris played on a loop in my head. It concerns Rose.
"What pattern could she have missed?" I whispered.
"I don't know. I gave her everything. My medical records. Ethan's. My father's." He turned his head toward me. "What if Rose has something worse?"
"Then we find out. Then we fight."
He closed his eyes. "I'm tired of fighting."
I moved closer, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. "I know. But we don't have a choice. We have four children who need us."
The morning came too fast. We dressed in silence. I made coffee but could not drink it. Rose was already awake, sitting on the yellow room floor with her notebook. The paper stars swayed above her.
"Sweetheart, we need to go see Dr. Harris today," I said, kneeling beside her. "Just you and me and Daddy."
She closed her notebook. "Am I sick?"
"We don't know. The doctor wants to talk to us."
She stood up, straightening her dress. "Okay."
She did not cry. She did not ask questions. She simply took my hand and walked to the car. Damian held the door for her.
Dr. Harris's office was the same, but the air felt heavier. The fish tank bubbled, but the yellow tang was hiding again. Rose sat in the chair beside Damian. I sat on her other side.
Dr. Harris opened a large folder. "Thank you for coming in. I want to start by saying that Rose is not in immediate danger."
Damian exhaled. "Then what is it?"
"I've been reviewing the family history you provided. Your brother's death, your father's condition, your own diagnosis. There's a pattern of autoimmune issues that I missed earlier."
Rose looked up. "What's autoimmune?"
I put my arm around her. "It's when your body gets confused and attacks itself instead of protecting you."
Dr. Harris nodded. "Rose's blood work from her last physical showed some markers that could be early signs of a mild autoimmune condition. Nothing is certain yet. But we need to monitor her closely."
Damian leaned forward. "What kind of condition?"
"Possibly juvenile arthritis or a thyroid disorder. Both are manageable with medication and therapy. But we need to do more tests to be sure."
Rose spoke quietly. "Will I be okay?"
Dr. Harris looked at her directly, her voice gentle. "Yes. Whatever this is, we caught it early. You will live a full, normal life. You'll still go to school, play with your siblings, read your books."
Rose nodded. "Okay."
We left with another folder. Another list of tests. Another waiting period.
Damian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding Rose's. I watched the city pass through the window, the buildings blurring.
"Rose," I said. "How are you feeling?"
She looked at me, her gray eyes calm. "I'm not sick. I feel fine. My knees hurt sometimes, but I thought that was normal."
My heart ached. "You should have told us."
"I didn't want to worry you."
Damian's voice cracked. "Rose, you can always tell us. Always."
She looked at him. "Then we do the tests. I'm not scared."
"You should be."
"No. Because being scared doesn't help." She turned to him. "You taught me that, Daddy."
He had no answer. He just held her hand tighter.
That night, we told the other children.
We gathered in the living room. Leo asked if Rose was going to die. Max started crying before anyone answered. Lily hugged Rose and would not let go, her small arms wrapped tight.
Rose stood in the middle of the room, calm as always. "I'm not dying. I just need some tests and maybe medicine. My knees hurt sometimes, but the doctor can help."
Lily sniffled. "Promise you're not leaving?"
"I promise."
They stayed up late, watching a movie, eating popcorn. Rose let Lily braid her hair. Leo sat beside her, holding her hand. Max fell asleep with his head on her lap, Waffle curled at his feet.
Damian and I watched from the kitchen doorway.
"She's stronger than any of us," he said.
"She always has been. Even when she was a baby, she barely cried."
The tests took a week. Rose went to every appointment without complaint. She held out her arm for blood draws without flinching. She sat still for X-rays. She answered every question with patience.
On the fifth day, Dr. Harris called.
"Rose's tests confirmed a mild form of juvenile arthritis. It's early stage and very manageable."
I sat down on the couch, relief and sorrow mixing. "What does treatment look like?"
"Physical therapy twice a week, anti-inflammatory medication, and regular monitoring every three months. With proper care, she can live a completely normal life. No major restrictions, just avoiding extreme impact sports."
Damian took the phone. "Will it get worse?"
"It might flare up from time to time, especially during growth spurts. But we can control the flares with medication. She'll need to listen to her body and rest when joints hurt."
Damian thanked her and hung up. Then he sat beside me, his head in his hands.
"Arthritis," he said.
"Manageable."
"But she'll have pain. Maybe for the rest of her life."
I took his hand. "And we'll help her through it. Just like everything else. She won't be alone."
We told Rose in the yellow room. She sat on her bed, surrounded by paper stars, her notebook in her lap.
"So my joints might hurt sometimes," she said.
"Yes."
"And I'll need medicine and physical therapy."
"Yes."
She looked at her hands, flexing her fingers. "Will I still be able to write? And draw?"
"Absolutely. The therapy will help keep your hands strong."
She nodded. "Then it's okay."
Damian knelt in front of her. "Rose, you can be sad about this. You can be angry. You don't have to be brave all the time."
She looked at him. "I know. But being sad won't change it. So I'd rather be brave."
He pulled her into his arms. "You're my hero."
She hugged him back. "You're mine too."
That night, we sat on the porch. The stars were bright. Waffle chased fireflies in the garden, leaping at the light.
"We have three children with medical conditions," Damian said.
"And one without."
"Leo. The lucky one."
I leaned into him. "We're all lucky. We have each other. We have doctors who know what to do."
He kissed my temple. "What would I do without you?"
"You'll never have to find out."
We sat in silence, watching the night. Somewhere inside, our children dreamed. Somewhere in the distance, the city hummed.
Then Damian's phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. His face went pale.
"Not again," I said.
He turned the phone toward me. A text from Dr. Harris.
I've been reviewing Rose's family tree again. There's one more connection I didn't see before. It involves you, Ava. Please come in alone tomorrow.