Grant walked into the room carrying a thick medical chart.

He stopped at the foot of my bed and clicked his pen twice.

“The bloodwork confirms it’s an aggressive autoimmune failure,” Dr.

Grant said.

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

I looked at Linda, waiting for her to step forward.

I wanted her to finally take my hand now that the news was bad.

She stayed firmly planted by the door, two feet from my father.