Because she was Emily’s identical twin.
She needed to be screened.
Carl wrote that medicine had changed since Emily died.
If Lily carried the same defect, there were now ways to monitor and treat it.
The note ended with one request:
Please take her.
Please have her tested.
I read it three times.
Then I called Dad.
It was two in the morning.
He answered almost immediately.
“Lily needs testing.”
Silence.
“Did you know?”
Dad admitted Carl had told him the previous year.
“You knew?”
“I did.”
“I should have told you,” Dad said. “I almost did.”
“Get me an appointment Monday.”
Dad paused.
“Already done.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What?”
He had contacted a specialist the week before.
The appointment was Monday morning.
I closed my eyes.
“Dad.”
“I know.”
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
There was no excuse in his voice.
He simply agreed.
Then I said,
“But you didn’t hide it because you didn’t love me.”
“No.”
“You thought you were protecting me.”
“Yes.”
Then Dad said something I have never forgotten.
“My reason came from love. My method was still wrong.”
He told me I had deserved the truth.
I had deserved the right to make my own decisions.
He apologized.
For thirteen years, two men had hidden enormous truths from me because they believed they were protecting me.
Both loved me.
Both were wrong.
Monday morning, Lily was tested.
The results came back negative.
She did not carry the defect.
When the specialist told me, I covered my face and cried.
Not quietly.
After thirteen years of fear I had not even known I should be carrying, my remaining daughter was safe.
Lily was waiting outside.
I had only told her it was a precautionary screening based on family medical history.
When I walked into the waiting room, she immediately stood.
“Mom?”
“You’re clear.”
She stared at me.
“You’re completely clear.”
Then Lily crossed the room and hugged me.
She was taller than me now.
Eighteen.
