Page 5 of Coerced

The car was fine, there hadn’t been an accident, the tension in the air was palpable—suffocating, even—and my parents were begging me to have a seat.

I already knew what the problem was. They just needed to admit it.

Mom went to the doctor today. That was the only explanation. That had to be what this was about.

And since it hit me full force, like a physical blow to the gut, I demanded answers. “Tell us what happened at the doctor today.”

Jasmine gasped. “What? Wait. What is she talking about?”

There was a beat of tense silence, despair etched into every crease on both of my parents’ faces, before my mom rasped, “I’m sick.”

“Sick? How? What do you mean?” Jaz questioned her.

“It’s cancer,” she shared.

And that was the moment it happened. The type of cancer, the prognosis, or the treatment plan didn’t factor into what I experienced.

My mom had cancer. The confirmation was all I needed to react. But my reaction wasn’t like Jazzy’s reaction. Where she burst into tears almost immediately, I stood stock still and stared.

Like a person with a gun pointed at their head, I didn’t move a muscle. But on the inside, I could feel it happening. Something coiled painfully in my belly, and the ache in my throat convinced me I wouldn’t be able to speak if I tried.

So, I didn’t.

I allowed my sister to gather all the information with her incessant questions, questions she’d fired one after the other without even waiting for a response.

“Relax, Jaz,” Dad urged gently.

“Relax? How can you be so calm? Mom has cancer!”

He closed his eyes and sighed. God, he was defeated, and I feared the absolute worst.

Mom covered Jasmine’s hands with hers, an effort to calm my sister down, and shared, “Bladder cancer.”

Jasmine burst into tears all over again, wrapping her arms around Mom like she never wanted to let her go.

Dad finally found his voice. “What we know so far is that it doesn’t look like it has spread to the surrounding muscle, tissues, or other organs. They want to do some chemo to shrink the tumor before they go in for surgery to remove it. Afterward, they’ll want to do more chemo to kill any remaining cancer cells not removed during the surgery.”

A plan.

Great.

There was a plan. And it sounded solid.

“So, it’s going to be okay?” I asked.

“That’s the hope,” my mom said. “But it’s going to be a long, difficult battle. A costly battle given our insurance being what it is.”

Money was the last thing that mattered to me. We could deal with the costs later. The most important part was getting Mom healthy again.

My mind needed to focus on the details, on the next steps. That’s how I’d get through this.

“This isn’t going to be easy on any of us,” Dad advised, his voice sounding tortured.

God, this was awful. I was so used to seeing my dad be the strong one, and right now, he didn’t have that in him. This was crushing him.

So, I decided right then and there that I’d be what my family needed. “We’re going to be okay. Mom’s going to beokay. And we’re all going to do whatever we’ve got to do to get through this together.”

“Aria, I think you need?—”