Kind eyes. Calm voice. The kind of face you want to trust and hate at the same time.
He greets Pops first, shakes his hand, and asks about symptoms like he’s checking boxes and trying not to show his own dread.
“How have the headaches been?” he asks.
Pops shrugs like he’s talking about the weather. “They come and go.”
“And the dizziness?”
“Some days.”
Dr. Patel nods, clicks something on the computer, then turns the monitor slightly away like he doesn’t want us to see the screen.
My stomach turns.
He folds his hands on the desk and looks at Pops, then at me, then at Cameron.
“I’m glad you all could come in,” he says gently. “I know this has been a long journey.”
Pops’s jaw flexes.
Cameron’s foot starts bouncing, his energy compressed into his leg like a spring.
I keep my face blank.
I’ve been practicing blank for weeks.
Dr. Patel takes a breath.
“We received the MRI results,” he begins. “And I’m very sorry. The scan shows progression.”
The word hits like a punch to the throat.
Progression.
I knew it.
I saw it.
But hearing it out loud is different.
It’s heavier.
It takes up space in the room.
Pops doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just sits there like he’s waiting for the rest.
Dr. Patel continues, voice even, careful, “The tumor has grown, and there are multiple lesions. It’s affecting areas of the brain that control balance, speech, and—” He pauses, like he’s choosing which truth to give us first. “Behavior.”
Behavior.
My chest tightens.
So that’s why Pops has felt…off. Why he’s been slower. Why he’s been tired and stubborn and quieter in ways that don’t fit him.
Cameron makes a sound—small and sharp, like he swallowed a rock.
Pops exhales slowly. “So what are we talking about here?”
