Mila took a deep breath. “Okay. I want to try. I don’t want to carry this anymore.”
Kathleen’s voice seemed to smile. “That’s a beginning, Mila. A brave one.”
Later that night the house was still. The television was off, and no music was playing. The only sounds that could be heard were the rhythms of the ceiling fan and the splash of the ocean against the shore outside. Bianca sat in the armchair by the window, her legs curled under her, flipping slowly through a magazine she wasn’t reading. Mila walked into the room, barefoot, wrapped in a bathrobe.
“You okay?” Bianca asked, closing the magazine.
Mila didn’t answer right away. She sat on the couch, pulling her knees up, hugging them close.
I didn’t think it would be that hard,” she said quietly. “Just talking to someone.”
Bianca nodded slowly. “You did something incredibly brave today.”
“It felt like I was saying it out loud for the first time. Like really saying it. Not just whispering it in my head.”
Bianca stood and crossed the room. She sat beside Mila and gently pulled her close, their bodies angled into each other.
Mila rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Kathleen said it helps. Putting words to it.”
“She’s right,” Bianca said softly. “I know it doesn’t fix everything, but it’s a start.”
“I still feel … broken.”
Bianca swallowed hard. Pain shot through her chest. “You’re not broken, Mila. You’re grieving. You’re hurting. But you’re still whole.”
Mila closed her eyes. “I was so afraid to tell anyone, to … tell you.”
“I was so afraid I’d already lost you.” Bianca brushed ahand gently over her daughter’s hair. She had removed the toboggan and the scarf. “But today … I saw you. I really saw you.”
Mila didn’t speak for a long while. Then, in a voice so soft it barely reached the air, she whispered, “I don’t want to be angry at you anymore, Mom. Don’t want to blame you for Dad leaving, not anymore.”
Bianca was silent. Guilt sat in her chest. She could barely speak but managed to murmur, “I don’t want to give you reasons to be angry.”
They sat there until the silence turned warm again—until Mila’s breathing slowed and her shoulders relaxed, her body leaning fully into the comfort she hadn’t allowed herself in years.
And for a change, Bianca didn’t try to fix anything. She knew she would have to tell Mila the truth—someday, about Gerard—but not today. Not when her daughter was giving her grace, as unwarranted as it may have been. She needed it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Bianca
After several weeks of Bianca’s treatments, Mila hadn’t missed a single one. Bianca watched now as she sat quietly in the chair next to her, earbuds in one ear, studying her mother—eyes bulged, watching intently. She’d started bringing a soft blanket for Bianca after the second round, after she’d noticed her mother shivering beneath the hospital’s paper-thin sheets. She brought snacks, too, packed in her denim tote, along with warm socks and coconut water, although Bianca could barely keep anything down most days. Her presence was a welcome surprise.
Mila didn’t say much. They both lived in the quietness of the moment—the reality of it. Bianca was sick, and there wasn’t a thing either of them could do about it except trust the process of tackling it through treatment. She couldn’t undo the time she’d lost with her daughter. There was no way to get back those moments when Mila had needed her most and she hadn’t shown up. The times she’d failed her. But maybe this was a beginning. In that cold infusion room, a connection was happening. Intimacy was being born in spite of their painful past. She hated that the cancer was back, butin a way it gave them a reason to fix what had broken a long time ago.
Mila began reading aloud from a book, something she’d found on the hospital bookshelf. Bianca, nauseous and dazed, listened without protest. The sound of Mila’s voice soothed her. Sometimes Mila would just watch her, glassy-eyed. Bianca could tell she was trying to be strong, trying not to show that she was worried, but her emotions seemed to defy her. It was hard seeing her child so vulnerable and not being able to help her.
Mila had been angry for so long. She was angry about Harry, the divorce, and Bianca never being there for those important moments of her life. The girl had a lot of pent-up anger about things. But now, as medicine dripped into Bianca’s veins, none of it seemed to matter.
“You okay, baby?” Bianca whispered.
Mila nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”
Bianca didn’t answer right away. Then, “As well as can be expected.”
“Do you think the treatments will help? Will they get rid of the cancer?”
“That’s what we’re hoping for.”