Chapter 4: Sisters and Secrets

When the Southern doctor arrived, my younger sister, Emily, looked at me with concern. She sat at the edge of my bed, hair tucked behind one ear, nervous fingers twisting her sweater hem.

“Hey, what’s up? You okay?”

For a second, I almost reached for her hand. But old habits die hard—I pulled back, pretending to fix my hair.

She seemed used to my attitude toward her. She offered a small, patient smile, like she expected nothing more.

After checking my blood pressure and looking me over, the doctor studied me thoughtfully.

“This young lady’s vitals are strong and vibrant, healthier than most people’s.” He grinned, making a show of flexing his biceps, and Emily let out a nervous giggle.

My sister laughed softly. Her laugh sounded like the jingle of ice cubes in a glass—cool, unexpected, gone too soon. I realized I’d missed it.

I understood—the doctor was praising my robust health, with no sign of any hidden illness at all. Still, the gnawing worry wouldn’t let go.

But why did the White House doctors in my previous life claim my health was damaged and that I was unlikely to conceive? I wondered if someone had lied—or if fate itself was playing tricks on me.

A wave of hope crashed in, so bright it almost hurt. But the old fear, sharp and cold, wouldn't let go. What if they were wrong again?

I refused to believe the doctor’s words, so I begged my dad to find a miracle worker, and even had the housekeeper search for doctors from other regions to check my health. My determination bordered on obsession, but I couldn’t help myself.

My dad was helpless in the face of my insistence. He raked a hand through his hair, sighing heavily.

“Didn’t the doctor say you’re perfectly healthy? Why won’t you believe it?”

I was holding a folk remedy the housekeeper had just found, meant to strengthen the body. It was some old Appalachian cough syrup—thick, molasses-dark, with a whiff of licorice and ginseng.

“Dad, this is really important to me.”

As I spoke, my voice trembled with tears. My hands shook, the glass jar clinking softly.

Dad was startled, then sighed and took the remedy from my hand. He looked at me, his eyes gentle but resigned.

“Don’t take this. I’ll go to the best hospital in D.C. and get you a prescription.”

I was instantly overjoyed. I wiped at my face and tried to smile, a little hope blooming in my chest.

“Dad, you’re the best.”

He looked at me with affection. “Then I’ll go right away.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead—something he hadn’t done since I was little—and hurried out.