Page 119 of The Storm

She stays in the hospital, and we all take turns sitting with her every day during the visiting hours.

Nick signs forms, gets poked with needles, and comes back home, where he tries to hide the side effects from me. His bones ache, he’s tired, and there’s a persistent headache he can’t seem to shake.

I feel sick to my stomach every hour of every day.

It’s like a living nightmare. I can’t look at my parents. I can’t face what I now know. I can’t sleep. I only think in worst-case scenarios.

I keep my mouth shut.

It’s not a choice. Not exactly. I’m standing at a crossroads, filled with terror, knowing I have to move.

But I can’t.

And I keep my mouth shut.

Looking back…how far was I from breaking?

I’m not sure.

With hindsight, you should be able to look back and see the warning signs.

The red flags.

The small moments that should’ve made you look up and go… Wait a minute.

You should have known something was wrong.

You should have felt it.

But no matter how many times I replay the past, no matter how much I look back on my life… I can’t find anything.

There’s nothing.

And then…

Kaboom.

It’s Dad who breaks.

It should’ve been me, but I’m still frozen at my crossroads.

It’s the morning of the transplant.

I’m waiting with Nick.

Pleading with myself to just open my fucking mouth.

“Nick…” I’ve said it about a dozen times so far. And then he squeezes my hand and tells me it’s all going to be okay.

Dad walks in. He glances at me.

Shakes his head.

“This has gone too far already. It’s not right like this,” he says.

He hands Nick a folder. The same one I saw on my mother’s desk that night.

Nick gives him a startled look.