We sit in a heavy, stifling silence. The only sound in the room is the mechanical ticking of the clock hanging on the back of the pantry door, counting down each, tense second.
‘Even though I hated it and thought she was wrong not to tell you . . .’ Elliott states heavily, ‘I didn’t have the right to go against her. It was her diagnosis Li, her health, her choice. She’s a grown adult with her own autonomy, and she was very clear that she didn’t want me to tell you, she didn’t want anyone to know! Hell, I don’t think she would have told Darcie and I, if she didn’t need help after the surgery.’
I shake my head, my throat tight with a mix of betrayal and grief. ‘You still should have told me El, I’m her son, I deserved to know . . .’
My brother’s lets out a weighted sigh, his gaze locking
