SILENT

Abi asked me if she’d told me.

“Told me what?”

“We found out this summer. My mom has cancer.”

My hand moves to rest on her arm and my head tilts right.

“What kind?”

“Ovarian.”

My eyes betray me. I force my contorted face to signal a different message.

A message that it will be alright.

A hushed voice in my head pierces my heart.

Ovarian cancer. The silent killer.

“There’s so much they can do these days.” It’s all I have.

Abi doesn’t want to know about statistics, therapies, prognosis.

She just needs to know that I see her pain.

So I’ll sit silently beside her. That’s enough.