Chapter 21

VIVIANNE

Doc is easy to find. He’s sitting in his office, buried in a stack of paperwork, when I walk in. He doesn’t look up—just sighs heavily.

His office is white, the furniture a pretty American elm wood. He jots something on the page, then sets his pen down, leaning back in his swivel chair with his hands folded over his belly.

His salt-and-pepper beard is freshly trimmed, his graying hair tucked behind his ears. He looks the same—just older.

“What’s wrong with my mom?” I ask, stiffening where I stand.

He gestures to the empty seat opposite him, but I shake my head. I don’t want to sit.

“I can’t tell you that, Ms. Pierce.”

“And why the hell not?” My voice is sharper now, anger creeping in.

“She’s a patient. I’m her doctor. That’s how this works.”

“Come on, Doc. Be straight with me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He sighs again, deeper this time, the fatigue showing in his face. His small, almond-shaped eyes meet mine—brown and soft, like creamy chocolate.

“Your mother has been diagnosed with stage four metastatic breast cancer. She has a tumor in her left breast as well as some spots on her lungs and ovaries.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unreal.

I blink, trying to make sense of them.

Stage four.

Breast.

Lungs.

Ovaries.

I grip the back of the chair, steadying myself.

“Okay,” I say, though nothing about this feels okay. My voice is thin, almost not there.

I swallow hard. “So…what are the chemo options?”

He squares his shoulders, meets my eyes, and grimly shakes his head.

“Okay…surgery?”

He hesitates. His lips press into a thin line, the corners of his mouth turning down. He shakes his head again.

The weight of it crashes into me. My chest tightens, my eyes blur.

“I’m very sorry.”

“How did this happen?” My voice is small, unsure.

“You know how your mother can be with the doctors. We just didn’t catch it in time. When we did, she refused care. I’m very sorry. Your mother’s a wonderful woman, an—”

“How long?” I cut him off.

I don’t want to hear the apologies. I don’t want the excuses. My mother hated going to the doctor, even when something was seriously wrong. That didn’t make it any easier to accept that she’s now dying of cancer.

“With your mother’s growth rate? Maybe a week. At most. If we had caught it sooner, if we had been—”

“I know, Doc. Thank you.”

My body goes numb. Hot tears fall in thick, steady streams down my cheeks. My heart cracks open in my chest at all the what-ifs and could-bes.

How am I supposed to look Rebecca and Marcus in the face and tell them that Momma is dying? Not just dying—she might not live through the week.

“Vivianne, wait,” he calls out.

I stop and turn back to face him.

“Here,” he says, handing me a stack of papers. “I know it’s hard, and this isn’t much, but hopefully, it’ll help you as you move forward.” He sinks back into his seat.

I take the papers with a nod, unable to speak. Then I turn and walk out, each step heavier than the last.

Outside, the air feels colder than I remember before walking into the doctor’s office.

Liam has the car on when I come out, and he’s leaning against it, his eyes locked on me. I know he can feel the tension rolling off me in waves, because he doesn’t say a word. Not a syllable.

Instead, he meets me halfway, pulling me into a hug that shatters whatever walls I’d carefully built to keep my emotions in check.

I let go, crying onto his shoulder. I don’t know what else to do. I feel so helpless.

He doesn’t let go, holding me tightly to his chest, whispering comforting words in my ear, and placing soft kisses on top of my head.

“I’m sorry,” I groan, looking up at him.

He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the trails of tears slipping down my cheeks.

“Don’t be.” His words are soft.

“We should go,” I say, my brow wrinkling.

“We aren’t going anywhere until you’re ready,” he says, still holding onto me.

I nod, leaning my head into him again.

When the tears finally stop, I wipe my face and try to pull myself together. Liam helps me into the car, holding my hand as we drive back to the house.

Becca’s in the kitchen when we arrive, fixing a sandwich.

“Want one?” she calls out.

I look at Liam, who just shakes his head, leaning into me as I lean into him.

“No, thanks,” I say, settling onto the couch.

I don’t know how to go about any of this. Momma already looks sick enough—like she’s…

I can’t even finish the thought.

It feels like a bad dream.

I take a deep breath and call Becca into the living room, asking her to sit with me. I wrap an arm around her shoulder, and we stay like that for a few minutes, just holding onto each other.

“Where are Marcus and Jess?” I ask, still trying to hold myself together. I don’t want to say this more than once. Repeating it wouldn’t just be hard—it would be cruel

“They live in town, maybe ten minutes from here.”

“Marcus ~moved out~?” The words stun me into silence.

How could he just leave Becca here alone? Even without knowing everything, anyone can see Momma’s sick~—really~ sick.

Anger boils in my belly.

I left to help. I found a better-paying job and moved to the city because there were more opportunities.

But Marcus is the oldest. He should be the one handling this. Taking care of things. Taking care of Becca.

“Can you call him? Have them meet us back here? Liam and I are going to get a hotel room and come back. We all have to talk.”

I watch the panic spread across her face, and for a second, I wish I could take this pain from her.

“Viv?” she starts, but I hold up a hand.

I love her, but right now, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t break down—not in front of her.

“We’ll be right back,” I repeat, hoping it reassures her.

She takes a step closer.

“I can just go,” Liam offers.

I want to hug him for trying to help. I thought I was ready—to say the words, stay strong. But I need a moment. Just one more moment where everything hasn’t fallen apart. Where Becca isn’t living alone with our terminally ill mother.

She nods and rushes into the other room. I hear her talking quietly before she returns.

“I promise we’ll be back. Marcus should be here soon, right?”

She nods.

“All right. Love you, Becca.”

I hug her and kiss the top of her head before heading for the door.

Not only do I want to get out of here for a while, but I want to get a room before everything shuts down for the night.

Small towns like this don’t run twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and if we don’t move fast, we’ll be stuck sleeping in my old bedroom on a twin-size mattress.

Liam pays for the room, refusing to let me help. We drop off our bags, then turn right back around, climbing back into the car.

Liam hesitates after starting the engine.

“I don’t know how to help,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Just keep being you. You’re doing great.”

I offer a small smile as he slips his fingers between mine.

“So are you, you know,” he says, turning onto the road toward home.

This time, I’m ready. I use the drive to think about how I’m going to break the news to my siblings.

As we pass through town, I get a sudden idea and ask Liam to stop at the Dollar General near the house. He gives me a look—like I’ve grown twelve heads—but I don’t care.

I rush inside, Liam trailing behind me, and head straight for the office supply aisle. I grab a basket and start filling it: binders, pens, highlighters, pencils, sticky notes, note cards. Anything that might help.

Momma has planning to do and questions to answer about what she wants to happen when she’s gone. And if she’s going to get through it, she’ll need some kind of order.

Though, I think at this point I’m just looking for my own distraction.

I leave the shopping bags in the car when we get back. I want to get this conversation over with. Becca wouldn’t put up a fuss—she’ll be hurt, she won’t understand—but Marcus? He’s the wild card.

As soon as I walk in, I hear chatter and laughter. It warms my heart. This is what this house used to sound like.

Liam shuts the door behind us, drawing attention. Marcus stands and comes over, scooping me in a big hug.

“Hey, little sister,” he says, grinning wide.

I smile back, already feeling overwhelmed. When he sets me down, Liam is there, his hand resting gently on the small of my back, offering silent support.

I clear my throat, the sadness swelling in my chest.

“I—um.” I bite my lip, trying to coax the words out. “I talked to Doc.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as a desert.

“Kay?” Marcus asks, sitting next to Jess.

Marcus’s green eyes match Momma’s—and Becca’s. I used to get teased for being the odd one out. But now, staring into those eyes, I’m grateful mine aren’t green. I won’t have to see Momma staring back at me in the mirror every day.

“Momma has breast cancer.”

The room goes still. Silent—except for Nathaniel’s quiet blabbering in the corner. He’s playing with something, Jess sitting nearby. My nephew is only three, but cute as a button—the perfect mix of Marcus and Jess.

“What—?” Becca is the first to speak.

I repeat everything Doc said, slower this time—giving them, and myself, more space to breathe. More time to absorb it.

We sit there in heavy silence, Nate’s low singing the only sound in the room. None of us knows what to say.

I see the sorrow on Becca’s face—raw and stunned. And on Marcus? Pure, barely contained fury.

He looks a lot like our father when he’s like that—tight-jawed, eyes blazing, like he might punch a hole through the wall just to feel something.

The resemblance rattles me. I try to shove the thought away.

Then Becca breaks.

Her sobs come fast and full, her face crumpling as tears streak down her cheeks and her eyes go red.

And that’s when it really hits me.

This is happening.

There’s no rewinding it. No fixing it.

And the worst part?

We haven’t told Momma that we know yet.