I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My father, the man who taught me to ride a bike, who came to my science fairs, had literally gambled my health away. Your mother stayed silent because she was terrified. If she exposed the truth, the family would collapse. Ava’s life would change drastically. And she convinced herself that maybe you’d be okay without treatment. That maybe the doctors were wrong.
“But they weren’t wrong.”
“No, they weren’t.”
Aunt Linda stood and retrieved an old envelope from a drawer, handed it to me with shaking hands.
“This came to the house 8 years ago. Your father intercepted it before your mother could see it.”
I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter from a specialist. Immediate treatment recommended for patient Lena Patterson. Delaying further may cause long-term neurological damage. Please contact our office to schedule treatment within 72 hours. The date on the letter was from when I was 15.
“He hid this,” I said flatly.
“He hid everything. And he told everyone, family, friends, neighbors, that you were exaggerating, that you were overdramatic, that there was nothing really wrong with you.”
Aunt Linda’s voice shook with anger.
“He destroyed your credibility so no one would take your symptoms seriously.”
I left Aunt Linda’s house in a days and drove straight to Ava’s school. She was at some evening rehearsal. I found her backstage adjusting her makeup.
“We need to talk.”
She looked up, saw my face, and went pale.
“What happened?”
“Did you know about Dad’s gambling?”
All the color drained from her face.
“How did you—”
“So, you did know?”
“I found out last year. I saw credit card statements, confronted mom about it.”
She looked down at her hands.
“She begged me not to tell you. Said it would break you.”
“Break me? Ava? Their lies almost destroyed my brain.”
“I know.”
She was crying now.
“I know. Okay. I’ve known for months and I didn’t know what to do and I’m so sorry.”
Before I could respond, my father appeared in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?”
His voice was sharp, angry.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Your sister has a performance.”
“I don’t care.”
I turned to face him fully.
“I know about the gambling, about the debts, about the letter you hid from the specialist.”
His face went from red to white.
“That’s private family business.”
“Private?”
“You gambled away money meant to save my life and you call it private?”
People were starting to gather. Other students, parents, teachers.
“Lower your voice,” my father hissed.
“Why? Worried people will find out what you did?”
I was shaking, but I didn’t care.
“Worried they’ll know you chose poker over your daughter’s health.”
