Something in Mom’s face hardened.
“Everybody upstairs.”
Dad reached for her elbow.
“Cindy, you need to rest.”
“And apparently I need to find out what everyone else already knows.”
Nobody argued.
Back in the bedroom, Mom lowered herself carefully onto the edge of the bed.
“Give me the picture.”
Dad hesitated.
“Brad.”
He handed it over.
I stood beside her as she turned it around.
I recognized my grandmother immediately, although she looked much younger than I remembered.
Mom and Linda stood beside her.
Then I noticed Grandma’s blouse.
One side lay flat against her chest.
I knew she had survived breast cancer.
I knew she had undergone a mastectomy.
But I had never seen that 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.”
