Page 120 of Cross Check Hearts

“We have some answers about your MRI results,” Dr. Landers says carefully, glancing over the papers on his clipboard, and my heart leaps into my throat. But Declan scoops my hand in his, offering silent, unwavering support and instantly bringing down my anxiety. I couldn’t imagine getting whatever life-changing news the doctor is about to give me without Declan here at my side. My heart pounds against my ribcage, and time seems like it starts to stretch out.

“Based on your history of escalating symptoms—the persistent migraines, vision disturbances, and halo effects you’ve been experiencing,” Dr. Landers continues, “we’ve confirmed a diagnosis of intracranial hypertension.”

“There’s no tumor?” I ask, my voice small and fragile.

“No tumor,” Dr. Landers confirms. “No cancer. Just an elevation of cerebrospinal fluid pressure that’s been causing your neurological symptoms.”

I blink at him, trying to process what he just said—because I’m still stuck on the first part.

I don’t have a tumor, and I don’t have cancer.

I can’t stop a little disbelieving laugh from falling out of my mouth. Even though I heard the doctor loud and clear, it’s still hard to comprehend. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours—hell, longer than that—in a pit of anxiety, convinced I was going to die, but the way Dr. Landers is talking about this cranial thing, he’s making it sound like it’s manageable compared to my worst fears.

“What exactly does that mean?” my mother asks, voicing the question before I can.

“It means there’s an abnormal buildup of pressure in the cerebrospinal fluid surrounding Hannah’s brain,” he explains. “We’ll need to do further tests to understand the underlying cause, but it’s a condition we can manage with medication, potential surgical intervention, and careful monitoring.”

A million more questions are buzzing in my mind, but relief is swirling so thick in my chest that I can’t find the words or get them out even if I could. Dr. Landers chuckles, resting a hand on my shoulder as he gives me an understanding look.

“I know it’s overwhelming. We’ll take this step by step. Right now, the most important thing is that you’re stable.”

My parents and Declan pepper him with a few more questions about how best to take care of me, and he answers them all patiently. He checks my vitals and leaves the room, and it’s not until he’s gone that the relief fully washes over me. A sob comes tumbling out of me, and Declan wraps his arms around me, holding me against his chest. When I glance up, my mother and father have both moved closer to the bed, and the looks of relief on their faces crack something open in me. I reach for their hands, and both of them take one of mine.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say quietly, and although concern flashes in their expressions, neither of them says anything. That’s good, because I need to get this all out while I still have the courage to say it, while we’re still in this vulnerable moment. “I don’t want to continue with law school or be a lawyer.”

A beat of silence hangs in the air, and my mother’s brows furrow, her head tilting slightly.

“You don’t?” she says, genuine confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

“I want to open a yoga studio,” I tell her, my voice growing stronger with each word. As much as I’ve fantasized about telling my parents exactly that, I never once thought I would actually go through with it. But somehow, just saying the words makes the little flame of courage in my chest burn brighter.

My parents exchange a look—one of those married couple glances that speaks volumes without a single word uttered. Neither of them has anything to say immediately, so I glance over at Declan, who smiles encouragingly, silently urging me to go on. My heart is starting to beat a little harder, but I straighten my shoulders, determined to be heard.

“I know this might seem unexpected,” I say, my voice steady now. “But I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while. Yoga is where my passion is. And I’m going to make it work. This isn’t just a dream—I’ve learned so much from Patricia, and I have so many ideas for how I would run my own studio.” I take a deep breath. “It won’t be easy, and it probably won’t pay as much as law,” I add with a little laugh. “But I already have full classes at Yoga Flow, and I know I could build a following at my own studio too.”

My dad chuckles, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “You know, a wise man once told me that I should think more about whatyouwant for yourself than what I want for you. And that’s pretty damn good advice, because what I want the very most for you is to be happy.” He beams at me, and I can actually feel the pride radiating off him. “So if this makes you happy? I say go for it. We’ll have your back the whole way.”

“Of course we will. But I have to ask… why didn’t you say something sooner? It breaks my heart to know you were doing something you didn’t really want to be doing,” my mother says, taking one of my hands in hers to hold it tight against her chest.

A sob wells inside me, and although I’d normally try to fight it back, I let it out. No more secrets. No more hiding. My mother makes a little noise and wraps her arms around me, enveloping me in one of the biggest hugs she’s given me in years. It reminds me of when I was a kid, of all the times she would comfort me or Casey when we were scared or sad—and it makes me remember how close we used to be before we lost him.

That’swhy I didn’t tell them. The three of us went through the wringer when Casey died, and things have never been the same between us since. But even with all that distance in the wake of his death, I never wanted to say or do anything that would drive them further away from me. I just wanted to make them happy, to try in my own small ways to somehow make up for losing Casey. But there was never anything I could’ve done to take away that pain for them, so I was only hurting myself—and I see that more clearly now than ever.

“I didn’t want to let you down. After everything with Casey, all I’ve ever wanted was to make you happy, to make up for him being?—”

“Hannah,” my father interrupts, his voice hoarse. He squeezes my other hand so tightly it almost hurts. His expression is more serious than I’ve ever seen him look as he shakes his head. “Listen to me. It’s not your job to ‘make up’ your brother’s loss to us. I don’teverwant you to think for another second that you need to do or be something you aren’t to make your mother and me happy. You are perfect exactly as you are. Do you hear me?”

I nod, my throat tight. My mom releases me, rubbing my back gently, and Declan and my dad share a look over my shoulder.

I couldn’t have known that things would go this well, but after finally having the conversation I’d been dreading, I wonder why I ever thought my parents might judge or reject me for being honest. Granted, a lot has happened, and things are different between us now—so maybe the conversation would’ve gone differently if I’d tried sooner.

I don’t know, but it doesn’t really matter now.

Because right now, I’m healthy. I have Declan. My parents are listening, and they’re okay with me carving out my own path for myself.

And that feels like more than enough.

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