The doctor said the area had been treated, but Conor would still need regular skin checks and follow-up.
Relief came quietly: no new crisis, just the truth I should have been allowed to face with him.
***
In the car, Conor said, “Thank you.””For coming?”
“For not taking over.”
I let the sting sit.
“Thank you.”
***
That night, he finally told me why he’d hidden it.
“When your mother was sick, I found you sitting on this kitchen floor.”
I remembered before he finished.
I’d been caring for her, working, barely sleeping, tracking appointments and medications. Then I forgot to return a library book.
That tiny mistake really broke me open.
“I found you sitting on this kitchen floor.”
“I remember.”
“When they said cancer, that’s what I saw.”
“Me on the floor?”
He nodded.
“You were exhausted. You were grieving. I couldn’t get that picture out of my head. I thought I was protecting you.”
