He locked the bathroom door, refused my help, and insisted on managing his own appointments. Whenever I approached his cast, he pulled away.
Then Nathan called.
“I’m just checking how he’s doing after everything,” he said.
“After the ankle injury?” I asked.
There was a long pause.
“Yes, of course.”
Something about his hesitation unsettled me.
That evening, Conor slipped in the bathroom. When I tried to help, he snapped at me not to touch his cast.
Then I noticed the scar.
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“Please tell me the truth,” I begged.
Finally, he whispered, “I had skin cancer.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“When did you find out?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“And you never told me?”
He looked away.
“This is why I kept it from you. Whenever something frightening happens, you immediately start making plans and trying to fix everything.”
