ring admiringly. “It is, isn’t it.” She looks up. “But I would have been happy with anything.”
“You love him.” It’s a statement, not a question. Jenna wouldn’t have agreed to marry him if she didn’t love him.
“I do. I don’t know how or when it happened. I only know this past year has been the happiest I’ve been since Dillon died. I would be crazy to not snap up this chance. I’ll always love Dillon, but I’m glad I met Bryant. He’s been good to me and for me. Actually, he’s good for me and Violet both.”
“I can tell. There’s light in your eyes again.”
I pull her in for another hug, so happy for her.
“Okay, enough about me.” She lets me go and leans back, her eyes ping-ponging between mine. “How are you doing?”
I blow out a long breath and lean back on the couch, tucking one foot under my butt. This conversation is not going to be easy. I’ve purposely kept the extent of my disease from her because I knew she was coming for a visit soon. This isn’t something you tell your best friend over the phone if you can help it. She only knows I’m sick, not that the disease will claim my life.
I grab her arm and pull her so she’s leaning against the back of the couch like I am, facing each other.
“I need you to first know that I didn’t keep this from you because I didn’t want you to know. I knew you were coming to visit soon and wanted to tell you face to face.”
Her brows drop, a wrinkle forming between her eyes. “You’re starting to scare me, Molly. What’s going on?”
I pull in an encouraging breath before I continue. “I have a rare disease called Gerstmann-Straussler-Scheinker. It effects the nervous system.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means that my brain function will become impaired. Memory, personality, speech, behavior, cognition, possibly dementia. It’ll also cause ataxia, which will affect my coordination. I’ll lose control over movements in my body.”
She nods, her face lined with worry. “What kind of treatments do you have to do? For how long? What does your doctor say? Will this disease affect you in the long run?”
I steal her hand away from her lap, and I grip it tight.
“There is no cure. There are no treatments,” I say quietly.
“What?” she whispers, her voice cracking on the word. “I don’t understand. What aren’t you telling me?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Eventually, my body will shut down,” I continue, my voice still low. “The impact of the disease will cause major brain dysfunction. Also, the muscles in my body will lock up and no longer work. More than likely, I’ll end up dying from a secondary infection from pneumonia, or even more likely, fall into a coma and… never wake up.”
She stares at me, unblinking, not moving a muscle. The only response she gives is the sudden flood of tears rolling down her cheeks. I hate this so much. I hate all of the hurt this is causing so many people. That’s what hurts the most. The pain of the people I’m forced to leave behind.
After several seconds, she opens her mouth, closes it, then tries again. “Yo-you’re dying?”
I nod solemnly. “Yes.”
Her face crumples, and she launches herself at me. I catch her in my arms, and we both sit there and cry for a long time. By the time we pull back, both of our shirts are soaked from each other’s tears.
“This isn’t right,” she hiccoughs. “This can’t be right. Did you get a second opinion?”
“Yes. I trust Dr. Becker wholeheartedly, but Lincoln wanted a second opinion. The results were the same.”
“I can’t believe this.” She squeezes my hand so tightly my knuckles protest, but I don’t pull away. “H-how long?”
“The average life span is three to five years.” I pause a moment. “But my symptoms are progressing faster than they anticipated. There’s a chance I might not last another year.”
She gasps, and another sob tears from her throat. All I can do is sit there and watch helplessly.
“There’s got to be something that can be done,” she says a few minutes later.
I shake my head slowly. “Believe me. I wish there were. There haven’t been many known cases, so they don’t know much about the disease. And Lincoln’s been tirelessly scouring the internet.”
Hearing the pounding of feet, Jenna furiously wipes her eyes before we both turn to face the doorway just