Then I noticed Grandma’s blouse.
One side lay flat against her chest.
I knew Grandma had survived breast cancer.
I knew she’d had a mastectomy.
But I’d never seen this photograph.
Mom had.
Her fingers tightened around it.
She looked at Dad.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Dad sat beside her.
“Because the surgeon found something.”
Mom went completely still.
“In my breast?”
Dad nodded.
“During the reduction, he found a firm mass in the tissue he was removing from your left breast.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Mom didn’t move.
“What did he do?”
“The area was already within the tissue being removed. It’s been sent to pathology.”
“To find out if it’s cancer?”
“Yes.”
The word seemed to change the air in the room.
Mom looked down at the photograph of her mother.
“When will we know?”
“They said it could take several days.”
Linda sat beside her.
Mom stared at the empty wall above the dresser.
“And the mirrors?”
Dad rubbed both hands over his face.
“The surgeon said more tissue ended up coming from that side. He warned me that one breast might look noticeably smaller while you’re healing.”
“So you removed every mirror in the room?”
