I knew she had undergone a mastectomy.
But I had never seen that picture.
Mom had.
Her fingers tightened around the photograph.
She looked at Dad.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Dad sat beside her.
“Because the surgeon found something.”
Mom became completely still.
“In my breast?”
He nodded.
“During the reduction, he found a firm mass in the tissue they were removing from your left breast.”
I felt cold all over.
Mom barely moved.
“What did he do?”
“The area was already part of the tissue being removed. They sent it to pathology.”
Her voice became quieter.
“To see if it’s cancer?”
“Yes.”
That single word changed the entire room.
Mom looked back down at the photograph of her mother.
“When will we know?”
“They said several days.”
Linda sat beside her.
Mom stared at the empty wall above the dresser.
“And the mirrors?”
Dad rubbed his hands over his face.
“The surgeon said they ended up removing more tissue from that side. He warned me that while you’re healing, one breast may look noticeably smaller than the other.”
Mom looked at him.
“So you removed every mirror?”
“I didn’t want you to come home, look at yourself, and panic before I had the chance to explain.”
She raised the photograph.
“This is why.”
Dad nodded.
“The second he said they found a mass, I thought about your mother.”
Mom’s voice dropped.
“So did I.”
“I knew you would.”
“And you thought hiding my mirrors would stop me?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I thought maybe it would buy you a little time. You’re already sore and bruised. I didn’t want you seeing your body and immediately believing you were going through what your mother went through.”
Mom stared at him for several seconds.
Then she turned to Linda.
“When did he tell you?”
“This morning.”
“So you knew before I did.”
“Cindy, he was scared.”
Mom looked back at Dad.
“You called my sister.”
“You found a photograph of Mom after her mastectomy.”
“You removed every mirror in the bedroom.”
“And I was supposed to come home and take a nap?”
“I was going to tell you.”
