Chapter 38 The Other Side
I went to Dr. Harris alone.
Damian wanted to come. He stood at the door with his coat on, his keys in his hand. "I should be there."
"She asked for me. Alone."
"What if it's bad?"
I touched his cheek. "Then I'll come home and tell you. And we'll face it together."
He kissed my forehead. "Drive safe."
The drive to the clinic felt longer than usual. The sky was gray. The roads were empty. I parked the car and sat for a moment, my hands on the wheel.
Then I went inside.
Dr. Harris's office was quiet. No fish tank bubbling today. She had turned it off. The room felt clinical, serious.
"Thank you for coming," she said. "Please sit."
I sat in the chair across from her. "What did you find?"
She opened a folder. "When I reviewed Rose's family tree, I noticed something I had missed before. We focused heavily on Damian's side because his history was clear. But I didn't ask enough about yours."
My stomach tightened. "My family?"
"Your parents. Your grandparents. Any history of autoimmune disorders, blood conditions, or unexplained illnesses."
I thought about my mother. She had died when I was young. Cancer, they said. But I never knew the details. My father rarely spoke of her.
"My mother passed away when I was twelve," I said. "Ovarian cancer. But I don't know much else."
Dr. Harris nodded slowly. "Cancer can sometimes be linked to genetic mutations. Do you know if she had any other health issues?"
I shook my head. "My father didn't talk about it. After she died, he shut down. I raised myself."
"I'm sorry." Dr. Harris's voice was gentle. "I don't want to alarm you, but I think we should run a genetic panel on you. And on Rose and Lily again, with a broader scope."
"What are you looking for?"
"Connections. Patterns. If there's something on your side that we haven't accounted for, it could change how we treat the children."
I sat back in my chair. "You're saying my family might be the problem."
"I'm saying we don't have enough information. And we need it."
I left the clinic with a paper bag. Inside was a kit for a blood draw. I was supposed to go to the lab downstairs.
I sat in the waiting room, holding the bag. My hands were cold.
My mother's face floated in my memory. Pale. Thin. Tired all the time. I had been too young to understand. The adults whispered. They said she was brave. They said she was fighting.
No one told me she was dying until the week before it happened.
I stood up and walked to the lab.
The phlebotomist was a young woman with kind eyes. She tied the tourniquet around my arm. "First time?"
"No." I watched the needle slide in. "But it's been a while."
She filled three vials. Labeled them. Handed me a cotton ball.
"Results in two weeks," she said.
Two weeks. More waiting.
I drove home in a fog. Damian was waiting on the porch. He stood when I parked.
"What happened?"
I got out of the car. "She wants to run a genetic panel on me. And on the girls again. She thinks there might be something on my side."
He pulled me into his arms. "Your side?"
"My mother. She died young. Cancer. But I don't know the details. I never asked."
Damian held me tighter. "We'll find out."
"What if it's bad? What if I gave something to the girls?"
"Then we deal with it. Just like we've dealt with everything."
I looked up at him. "You're using my words against me."
He almost smiled. "They're good words."
That night, I called my father.
We hadn't spoken in months. He lived in a small town three hours away. He didn't like phones. He didn't like visits. He liked being alone.
He answered on the fourth ring. "Ava?"
"Dad. I need to ask you something."
Silence. Then: "What?"
"Mom's illness. The cancer. Was there anything else? Any other health problems?"
More silence. I heard him breathing.
"Why are you asking now?"
"Because my children are sick. The doctors are looking for genetic links. I need to know if there's something in our family."
He was quiet for a long time. Then: "Your mother had a blood disorder. They found it after she died. I never told you because I didn't want you to worry."
My heart stopped. "What kind of blood disorder?"
"Something called thrombophilia. It increases the risk of clots. They said it might have contributed to the cancer."
I closed my eyes. "Dad, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was scared. Because I didn't want you to think you would end up like her." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
I gripped the phone. "I need you to send me her medical records. As much as you have."
"I'll look for them."
"Please, Dad. This is important."
He promised he would. Then he hung up.
Damian was in the kitchen, making tea. I told him what my father said.
"Thrombophilia," he repeated. "That's a clotting disorder. Like Factor V Leiden."
"Different gene, same family of conditions." I sat at the table. "It means the girls might have inherited something from both sides."
Damian sat across from me. "That could explain why Lily's platelets are elevated. Why Rose has joint pain."
"Or it could be nothing. We don't know yet."
He reached for my hand. "Two weeks."
"Two weeks."
We sat in silence, the tea growing cold. Somewhere upstairs, the children were asleep. Waffle snored at our feet.
Then my phone buzzed. A text from my father.
Found the records. Sending them now. I'm sorry I kept this from you.
I opened the attachment. Pages of medical history. My mother's diagnosis. Her treatments. Her final days.
At the bottom, a note from her doctor: Genetic testing recommended for all first-degree relatives. Risk of hereditary thrombophilia is significant.
I set the phone down.
"She knew," I whispered. "Her doctor told her to have me tested. And she never did."
Damian pulled me into his arms. "She was protecting you."
"She was hiding from the truth."
"Like you hid from me?"
I looked at him. "Yes. Like I hid from you."
He kissed my forehead. "Then we break the cycle. We tell the truth. We face it together."
I nodded. "Together."
The phone buzzed again. A new text. From Dr. Harris.
I received a copy of your mother's records from the hospital. This changes things. Please come in tomorrow. Bring Damian.