She brushed her thumb across the back of my hand, the gesture so small but steady. "Life doesn't work like that, Michael. We don't get to choose. All we can do is keep going."
Tears blurred my vision. "I don't want to keep going if it means watching you suffer."
She gave me a look then—soft, fierce, the kind only a mother can give. "You will, because you're my boy. And you'll be stronger than you think, even when you don't feel it."
I leaned my forehead against hers, eyes shut tight, trying to hold myself together. "I just don't want to lose you."
Her voice cracked, but she whispered anyway, "I know. And I'm not gone yet. So don't spend all our time worrying about losing me. Spend it with me, while I'm here. I can still survive, we don't know, at least it hasn't reached stage 4 yet."
Her words sank deep, heavier than anything I'd ever carried. I clung to her hand, to the warmth still there, telling myself I wouldn't waste a second.
The living room was dim, and I sat on the couch with Mum, her hand clutched in mine, both of us caught in a silence broken only by the shaky breaths we couldn't quite steady. My eyes burned, and before I knew it, I was crying again. She pulled me close, and for a moment I let myself lean into her, as though her warmth might make everything less heavy.
The front door creaked open. Joey stepped in. The moment he saw us, his expression was far from what I expected. He didn't look confused. Sad—yes—but mostly resigned.
As if reading my mind, he turned to me with a look of pure sorrow mirroring mine but...
"I figured," he said quietly, slipping his hands into his pockets.
I blinked at him, my chest tightening. "You knew?"
"You fucking knew!!"
He didn't answer right away, just gave the smallest nod, his eyes flicking to Mum and then back to me.
The anger rose before I could stop it. I pulled my hand free from Mum's and stood up, my voice breaking as it came out sharper than I intended. "So what, I'm the last to know? You couldn't bother telling me?"
"Michael—" Mum started, but I cut her off, shaking my head.
"No, don't. He knew, and you—" My throat tightened. I swallowed hard. "You both thought it was better to keep me in the dark?"
I knew I was being unreasonable, they probably did it for my sake, to protect me, but I didn't need their protection. I wasn't protected when the doctor first told us Mum had cancer a year ago and I wasn't about to be protected now.
Joey finally spoke, his voice low. "It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like?" I demanded, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I was just… left out. Like I..." I didn't finish.
The room fell silent again, thick with everything unsaid. Mum's hand reached for me, but I stepped back, and immediately regretted it but the weight of betrayal pressed heavier than the grief itself.
"Michael, you don't understand," Joey insisted persuading me.
I scoffed, shaking my head. "What's there not to understand? I was the last to know—nothing else to it."
Eyeing my mother and brother suspiciously, I asked. "Does dad know?"
"Love, we—" I cut my mum off, turning to Joey, and asked again. "Does dad know?"
"Yes," Joey answered.
"You told Dad, before me. I'm sure it didn't even register in his brain, he probably just grunted—"
"Michael!!" My mother cut in, stopping me from finishing my sentence.
"I'm going to my room," I said, deciding to leave before I say more things I'd regret—or cause my mum even more pain. And God knew she was already in a hell a lot of pain.