“Lily’s birthmark alone is not a diagnosis,” he explained. “But considering the family history, we should run additional tests.”
Michael immediately asked,
“What if it is the same disease?”
The doctor was silent for a moment.
“The treatment and monitoring available for this condition today are very different from what they were thirty years ago.”
Michael barely seemed to hear him.
He kept talking about Grace—how she had also been born with the heart-shaped mark, how health problems had started appearing later, and how their family had lost her when she was only four years old.
For the first time, I understood that my husband’s reaction wasn’t simply coldness.
He had been a six-year-old boy watching his little sister become weaker and weaker.
That memory had never left him.
But it didn’t change my decision.
“Lily isn’t going anywhere,” I said. “Even if we’re given one year, one month, or fifty years with her, she is our daughter.”
Michael looked at me.
“What if we become attached to her and then lose her?”
“We’re already attached to her.”
