Prologue #3
“Suit yourself, you’re only going to get more upset as it is.
” She shrugs, looking up at me and exhaling slowly.
“I have Juvenile Huntington’s Disease. I was nine when I was diagnosed.
Life expectancy for JHD is ten to fifteen years after onset.
It can be fatal within ten years, depending on symptom severity.
My doctors have agreed that I don’t have much longer since my symptoms have been getting worse for the past couple of years. ”
She reports every bit of information like a robot, not a hint of emotion in her tone. And yet each word hits me like a ton of bricks. I want to tell her to take it back, to say it’s some sick joke to punish me for almost cheating on her. But I know it with every fiber of my being, Cleo isn’t lying.
She doesn’t care to punish me, because she doesn’t care about me.
She doesn’t care about anything—save for her sons.
She’s dying, and she figures, why should she?
“Why would you keep this from me? This whole time…I didn’t even know that you had a condition—” A condition I know very little about, but still know is fatal.
A neurodegenerative disorder that makes the nerve cells in the brain break down over time.
Her brain has literally been dying since she was nine, and I had no clue.
“Of course you didn’t,” she cuts in hastily.
“My parents wouldn’t have it any other way.
Do you think they could have snagged a Moretti man for an alliance otherwise?
Certainly not such a high ranking one. What mafia would agree to a defective bride?
I’ve been hiding the condition since the day I was diagnosed. ”
“Are you serious?” I ask, mouth dropping open. “Your parents made you—”
Again, she interrupts me before I can finish. “My parents made me marry you for money and connections. Why are you surprised they would condition me to be the perfect candidate to win a Moretti?”
“Cleo, those things are two entirely different versions of fucked up.”
“Maybe to you.” She narrows her eyes. “To me, this is just reality. This has always been my life. There’s no sense in dwelling on it.”
When I don’t respond quickly enough, she huffs.
“If you’re waiting for me to apologize, you’ll be waiting a long time. You should be thanking me for keeping my distance all these years. Now when I die, you won’t be losing someone you loved.”
She didn’t want to get to know me, knowing she’d never live a full life with me.
How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that?
“And before you ask, Bastian is fine. I had him tested right after he was born. He doesn’t have the gene.
He won’t pass it to his future children, and he’ll never have to deal with the disease himself.
I wouldn’t have been able to hide this from you if he had the gene.
I could keep it quiet when it was just me, but I couldn’t keep our son’s medical information from you. ”
It’s hereditary.
Oh fuck, I didn’t even think—
“Are you sure?” I croak, barely keeping it together.
“Of course I’m sure,” she replies in a snap. “I wouldn’t take chances with him. He’s my baby boy, and he doesn’t have the gene. I had the tests triple checked.”
Feeling sick to my stomach, I hang my head. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Of course I was.” She sighs. “I tried to, about a thousand times. Especially when I was pregnant. You have no idea how fucking scared I was that Bastian would inherit—” Cleo sniffs, choking back swelling emotion in her throat.
“Do you think it was easy to bring Leo into our lives knowing that he’d eventually lose another mother? ”
My stomach feels heavy and achy, thinking about our boy’s sunshine being dimmed by yet another tragedy.
He adjusted well to us, to becoming our family.
But he’s young and children are resilient—especially when they know they’re safe.
There’s no telling how he’ll handle losing Cleo though.
She’s his mama, and I don’t know if he even remembers the woman before her.
“This is so fucked up,” I say on an exhale, scrubbing a hand down my face. “If I didn’t come to you about a divorce today, how long would I be waiting to hear this news, Cleo?”
“It wouldn’t be long.” She shakes her head.
“My symptoms are becoming harder and harder to hide. It’s why I’ve stayed home more and more.
Soon my clumsiness is going to turn into difficulty walking, speaking, and swallowing.
My irritability and memory lapses are going to advance further into cognitive decline.
I could get aggressive, more depressed, or worse.
I’ve been shaking more and more, and it’s impossible to hide when you’re in my space for more than a few minutes.
I would have told you as soon as I wasn’t confident in my ability to be around the boys. I would never put them at risk.”
“Jesus, Cleo. I—”
I can’t get any words out before she continues, “I’m not an evil person. I don’t know why I am the way I am, but I wouldn’t put them at risk. I just couldn’t…It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s good that you know now, so we can make a plan together. For the kids, preparing them…”
She continues to talk, rambling off all the things that will need to be done before she’s gone, but I can’t hear a word of it. All I can think about is the fact that my sons are going to grow up without a mother. A mother who hid a fatal disease from her whole family. Just like my own mother did.
Fate is a bitch.