The doctor's office felt smaller than before.
Amelia sat beside her mother, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
She watched the doctor's lips move, but the words felt slow, heavy, like they didn't want to exist.
"We've reviewed the scans," the doctor said gently.
Her mother leaned forward. "And?"
The doctor hesitated.
That hesitation said everything.
"It is the same condition," she said softly.
"The same neurological degeneration your husband had."
The air disappeared from the room.
Amelia's fingers went cold.
Her mother's voice broke instantly.
"No… no, it can't be. She's too young."
The doctor's eyes filled with quiet sympathy.
"It is genetic."
That word echoed.
Genetic.
Passed down.
Inherited.
Like a curse that waited patiently.
Amelia's ears rang. She couldn't breathe properly. The room felt like it was folding inward.
"I need to use the washroom," she whispered suddenly.
Her mother nodded absently, already breaking apart.
Amelia stood and walked out before anyone could stop her.
She didn't go far.
She stopped just outside the door.
And then she heard it.
Her mother crying.
Not quiet tears.
Not controlled sadness.
Real crying.
The kind that comes from losing something you love for the second time.
"I can't do this again," her mother sobbed. "I watched him disappear. Piece by piece. He forgot my name… he forgot her… he forgot himself…"
Amelia froze.
Her hand pressed against the wall to steady herself.
"I don't want to watch my daughter disappear too," her mother whispered.
Amelia closed her eyes.
Her chest hurt in a way she had never felt before.
Not fear.
Not sadness.
Something heavier.
Helplessness.
She walked into the washroom slowly.
The fluorescent lights flickered above her.
She stopped in front of the mirror.
Her reflection stared back.
The same face she had seen every day.
Familiar.
Safe.
For now.
She stepped closer.
Her fingers touched the glass lightly.
"Will I forget this face too?" she whispered.
Her own voice sounded distant.
She imagined waking up one day and not recognizing the person staring back.
Not knowing her own eyes.
Not knowing her own name.
She swallowed.
"What about my dreams?" she murmured. "Will they disappear too?"
She had so many.
She wanted to buy a bike one day. Ride it fast with the wind against her skin. She wanted to laugh with her friends until midnight. She wanted to give her mother a peaceful life. A happy life.
She wanted time.
Just time.
Her reflection didn't answer.
It only stared back.
Silent.
Temporary.
She let out a long breath.
Then she wiped her eyes.
Because she made a decision right there.
If she was going to disappear—
She wouldn't let her mother watch it happen.
When she returned to the doctor's office, her mother quickly wiped her tears, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Amelia pretended not to notice.
She sat down calmly.
"So," Amelia asked softly, "what did the doctor say?"
Her mother froze.
For a second, she couldn't speak.
Amelia smiled gently.
Like she didn't already know.
Like she hadn't heard everything.
Her mother forced her voice to stay steady.
"They said… you're just stressed. Nothing serious."
Amelia nodded.
"Okay."
She didn't question it.
She didn't break.
She didn't cry.
Because from that moment on—
She decided she would carry the truth alone.
To protect the person who had already lost too much.