Multiple enhancing lesions.
Mass effect.
Edema.
Midline shift.
My brain tries to translate it into something less terrifying.
It can’t.
My eyes move lower, catching on a sentence that makes everything in me go still.
Recurring tumor burden involving the…
I don’t finish reading it.I can’t.
Because the next line is worse.
It uses the worddominantlike the tumor is in charge now.
Like Pops’s brain is the thing being pushed aside.
My stomach flips violently. Heat rushes up my throat.
I drop the phone onto the counter and bolt down the hall, one hand clamped over my mouth.
I shove the bathroom door open and barely make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees.
The first heave is sharp and empty.
The second is worse.
My body convulses with it, like it’s trying to purge something that isn’t food or sickness—something heavier, something poisonous.
Fear. Grief. The truth.
My hands shake so hard my fingers feel numb. Tears sting my eyes, making the tile floor blur and wobble.
I hear footsteps outside the door. Heavy. Uneven.
Then Logan’s voice, cautious but immediate.
“Sloane?” he calls. “Hey—are you okay?”
The concern in his voice makes everything worse. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to see me like this—broken, terrified, human.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
My throat burns. My stomach twists again, and I gag, bile rising.
The door creaks.
“Do you need help?” Logan asks, closer now. “I can?—”
“No!” I snap, voice raw and ugly. “Go away!”
