Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Daniela’s breathing shifts. She’s trying to hold it together, and it’s killing me to watch.
“I need to ask,” the counselor says gently. “Has anyone else in your family been tested?”
“My father…” Daniela closes her eyes. “He didn’t test. He just…said things. Threatened things.”
That old familiar rage twists in my stomach.
“And your mother?” Dr. Pickway asks.
“She died when I was young. I don’t know anything about her medical history.”
The counselor nods, scribbling something. “That’s common too. Many people come in without clear family records. Today we’ll talk about what a positive result means, what a negative one means, and everything in between. This is not a sentence. It’s information.”
Information.
Except it feels like fate is sitting in Dani’s blood on a lab counter somewhere.
Dr. Pickway continues, “Some people prepare for all outcomes. Some prefer not to think ahead until results are in. Where do you two fall?”
Daniela looks at me first.
“This is your call,” I say softly.
“I want to know,” she whispers. “I just…don’t want him to see me as broken.”
My chest caves.
“You're the strongest person I’ve ever met,” I say, my voice low, uneven. “Nothing you face makes you broken.”
She shivers. I want to wrap her in my arms and carry her out of here, far away from anything that can take her from me.
Dr. Pickway gives a sympathetic smile. “We’ll go step-by-step. By the end of this session, you’ll both understand what to expect emotionally, physically, and practically. And we’ll set up resources for support if either of you needs it.”
Daniela nods. A tiny motion. Barely there.
I keep holding her hands.
Because she’s holding me together.
Dr. Pickway turns slightly toward Daniela. “A negative result is the most straightforward. It means you did not inherit the expanded HTT gene. You won’t develop Huntington’s, and you can’t pass it on to any children you may have in the future.”
Daniela exhales next to me, a tiny shift of air against my arm. Not relief—just a momentary loosening of fear.
“And a positive result,” Dr. Pickway continues, her tone careful, “means you did inherit the expanded gene. That means you’ll eventually develop symptoms, though not right away. Sometimes not for many years. The test can’t predict onset age or severity.”
My chest tightens. I already know the facts, but hearing them spoken out loud, directed at Daniela, hits me with the force of a tornado.
“But people live long, meaningful lives before symptoms appear,” Dr. Pickway adds quickly. “And a positive result gives you the opportunity to plan. Not just emotionally, but medically and financially as well. Many people find that empowering rather than limiting.”
Empowering.
Sure. If I weren’t imagining worst-case scenarios stacked end to end.
Dani sits perfectly still, tension radiating off her. Like she’s holding her breath inside her own skin.
“And then,” Dr. Pickway says, “there’s an intermediate result.”
I look at her sharply. “Intermediate?”
“Yes. It means the number of CAG repeats isn’t high enough for the gene to cause Huntington’s in Daniela, but it could expand in the next generation. She’d be healthy her entire life, but any children she has could inherit a fully expanded gene.”
Dani’s fingers twitch in her lap. I slide my hand over hers, threading our fingers together, grounding her even as something icy crawls up my spine.
Dr. Pickway folds her hands together. “That’s why I said this isn’t a sentence. Each possible result carries different implications. Some are frightening. Some are comforting. Some fall into a gray area. But all of them give you information, tools to make decisions that feel right for you.”
Dani looks down at her lap, eyes distant. I wish I could take her chin in my hand and force the world to stop scaring her. But I don’t move. Not yet.
“And whatever the results are,” Dr. Pickway finishes, “you won’t navigate them alone.”
Daniela wipes a few tears from her cheeks. She nods at Dr. Pickway’s words, but she doesn’t look convinced.
One thing I know for sure…
She won’t handle this alone.
Not while I’m breathing.
We walk out of the testing center together, Daniela’s arm looped through mine. The sun outside is blinding, and for a moment I think about how easy it would be to just keep driving—head west until the road ends, forget all of it.
But that’s not who I am.
Fixers don’t run.
I take her to dinner, though neither of us is really in the mood for it. There’s a little restaurant not far from the center with dim lights and candles on the tables. The kind of place where people are supposed to have meaningful conversations.
We don’t.
She orders tea and stirs it without drinking. The silence between us stretches long and uneasy.
Until I have to say something.
“Once Vinnie finds this Gordon Brown, I’ll handle it.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Handle it?”
“Yeah. Personally. I’ll make sure he never comes near you again.”
She looks away.
Something twists in my chest. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”