I handed her my own lab report, crumpled into a ball so the name was impossible to read.
My mother snatched it with shaking hands.
She didn't bother checking the name at the top, already blurred by tearstains. Her eyes went straight to the results.
The moment she saw the word leukemia, her legs buckled and she nearly collapsed.
She burst into sobs. "What did we do to deserve this? How could she get a disease like that out of nowhere?"
My sister's face went whiter than before. She held the report in both hands, fat teardrops splashing one by one onto the paper.
She shook her head frantically. "No, it's not true. It's not me. It can't be!"
Dad pulled Laurel into his arms and murmured softly, "It's okay, it's okay. I'm going to find the best doctor to treat you. Everything's going to be fine."
That night, Dad started pulling every string he had, reaching out to contacts for a reliable specialist. Mom sat hunched over her phone, searching everything she could find about leukemia. Neither of them slept. They spent the entire night making calls and reading articles.