That afternoon, I called Adele, Jeremiah, and Chanel to my house.
Adele arrived first. Jeremiah came with his tool bag because fear made him fix things. Chanel came last, carrying soup I hadn’t asked for.
“What broke?” Jeremiah asked.
“They need the truth from paper.”
“Me,” I said.
All three of them froze.
I handed Adele the hospital folder.
“Heart surgery?” she whispered.
“Next week.”
“Next week?” Jeremiah stood too fast. “Were you going to tell us from the operating table?”
“I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Heart surgery?”
Chanel set the soup down hard. “Mama, hiding it scares us.”
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
Adele sat beside me. “Loving us doesn’t mean protecting us from your life.”
Jeremiah rubbed his forehead. “You’re our mother. You don’t get to disappear quietly.”
