Chapter Twenty-eight Bianca
Chapter Twenty-eight
Bianca
She stood in front of the mirror, eyes fixed on her chest—the spot that was marked during her simulation appointment. The ink—this vivid tattoo—would remain, long after the radiation was over, a permanent reminder of what she’d been through. It would stay etched in her skin forever.
The oncologist was precise, gently mapping out where the cancer had spread to and where the radiation would strike. The mark was a guide for the radiologist—a road map of sorts. She reached up and gently touched the spot, her fingers lingering over it.
Today was the day.
She sat in the waiting room, her knee bouncing up and down at a fast pace. She bit her bottom lip, while chill bumps rushed up and down her arms. Her heart raced.
Remi placed her hand on Bianca’s knee, stopped it from bouncing. She grabbed her hand and gently held on to it. “Relax. It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
Bianca nodded slowly, blinked rapidly. “I just hope they get it all.”
“Prayerfully so,” Remi said. She gave her a reassuring smile.
Bianca had slipped Abuelita’s rosary beads into her luggage the last time she was there.
Now they were wrapped around her fingers like a vine.
She held on to them tightly. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer—a brief but sincere one.
Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but then she heard the nurse call her by name.
“Bianca Fuentes Perez.” She said it almost too softly, too gently.
Bianca stood.
“I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Remi smiled.
She lay on her back, stretched out on the treatment table, the cold surface pressing against her.
In her ears, Prince’s “Purple Rain” played softly—his voice and the guitar wrapping around her, easing her fear.
When the machine started, it made a steady, whirring noise.
A myriad of thoughts raced through her mind.
She focused on staying still, willing her body not to move, even though her emotions were all over the place.
She trembled from the thought that this might not work, that the radiation might not remove the disease from her body.
Or that the cancer would spread to other parts also crossed her mind.
It seemed as though her options were slowly trickling away.
If this didn’t work, where would she go from here?
The thought of surgery unnerved her. Her abuelita’s rosary beads lay wrapped up in her clothing across the room.
She wished they were in her hands, wrapped around her fingertips, quieting the noise in her head.
Thirty long minutes later, it was over. And now the process of waiting would soon begin—to see if the cells died. Then there would be the follow-ups and side effects. The part where hope was all that was left. She dressed quietly, solemnly; wrapped the rosary beads around her wrist.
The drive home was quiet, somber.
She wanted nothing more than to get home, curl up in the center of the bed, wrap herself up in a blanket, and sleep the rest of the day away. And that’s exactly what she did.
The next few days were spent in that same spot, sleeping and barely eating. As dark circles formed around her eyes, depression began to set up camp in the dark corners of her mind. A part of her wanted to give up—fighting was too hard, and she was losing strength.
That morning, like every other for the past week, as daylight made its usual intrusion into the room, she covered her head with the blanket.
She just wanted to sleep and so that became her fight—a fight to keep still, to sleep the days away, to disappear.
In a nutshell, to keep everyone at bay. They wanted her to eat, come out of the room, to engage, but she didn’t want any of that.
No, today she only wanted to sleep. But that was short-lived.
She was awakened abruptly by Mila.
“Mom!” She nearly screamed it. “Mom, wake up.”
Mila stood in the shadows of the room, arms folded tightly over her chest. Her face completely covered in tears, her eyes red and swollen. Her breathing was off as her chest heaved up and down.
Bianca stirred and struggled to open her eyes. She slowly pulled herself upright in bed. When her gaze found her daughter, she winced. “Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked, searching Mila’s eyes. Her gaze drifted to the hills of dark curls on her head that were beginning to grow back.
“Is it true?” Mila’s voice cracked, her teeth clenched. Her brows narrowed into a frown.
Bianca’s heart pounded rapidly. “Is what true?” she asked but already knew even before Mila spoke the words. She knew her past had come to haunt her in the worst way, and before she was ready.
“That Uncle Gerard is really my dad.”
Bianca sat frozen for a moment. The words pierced her heart.
Reality was in her face, and she had to deal with it.
She had always been the girl who would fight like hell at the drop of a hat.
She was strong, the kind that wouldn’t back down.
But Mila standing in front of her now, heartbroken and furious …
that shook her and made her want to run for the hills.
Almost in a whisper, she said, “Sweetheart, I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know—”
“So, it’s true, then.”
“Many years ago, I made a mistake …”
“You slept with your best friend’s husband? How disgusting.” She sighed heavily and dropped her arms to her sides, loosening her stance a bit. “It’s why you and Aunt Remi have been at odds lately.”
“Who told you this?” Bianca asked.
Mila shook her head. “I can’t even believe you. And I can’t believe my dad didn’t tell me, either. You both deserve each other.”
“Who told you this?” Bianca asked again. Her voice firmer now.
“The only person brave enough to tell me the truth. Her eyes bulged as she said, “Jen.”
Everything in her stood still. How dare she—this woman who wasn’t even family, who was barely a fiancée, had the audacity to tell her daughter something so deeply personal.
“It wasn’t her place,” Bianca said, anger rising in her chest.
“No,” Mila snapped, her voice breaking. “It was your place. Or my dad’s. And neither of you said a damn word.” She was crying hard now, her chest heaving as if she might have an anxiety attack.
“Come here, baby.” Bianca stretched out her arms.
“I can’t be with you right now.” Mila stormed out of the room.
“Mila,” Bianca called her as she forced herself out of bed and hurried to the door.
Just outside, Zoe stood frozen against the wall, arms folded against her chest, her shoulders heaving up and down, tears streaming down her face.
Bianca stopped short. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Zoe didn’t speak. She just looked at Bianca with eyes full of contempt. She turned and walked swiftly down the hallway, then slammed her bedroom door shut.