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Dear Corinthia,
I forgot to tell you that the word don’t isn’t in my vocabulary. So
to me, all you said was “get mad”. So I got mad. I’m not mad at Bray, as
long as you’re not mad at Bray. Are you not mad at Bray? Okay. I just
support you. But I am mad at our parents. It seems that every few
weeks, we find out this horrifying new secret about our pasts, or our lives.
The answer is yes, I was sick. I was apparently very sick as a child. I
confronted my father yet again for answers, and he confessed to everything.
To his credit, he’s not a doctor, and it didn’t occur to him that you might
be suffering from the same condition. We couldn’t afford to visit a doctor
back then. Things were bad, the entire industry sector was suffering. There
was a huge gap between supply and demand for medical help, and as a result,
prices were exorbitant. We could only afford a nurse. He claims that he
never lied by telling me that she was a babysitter, so I guess I just grew
up assuming that. She wasn’t even a nurse yet either, though, but a nursing
student, so she was willing to help for less just for the experience.
According to him, she was incredibly kind and helpful, and while he didn’t
have the education necessary to assess how she was helping, the results were
rather clear. Whenever I was showing signs of my illness again, she slipped
me medicine—often hidden in the chicken noodle soup—and then I got better.
She had no clue that it was hereditary, however, I’m still mad, because he
should have said something recently. He should have made the
connection, especially when he was compiling his list of people who might
have been responsible for studying the Earth twin. It could have been
her, for all we know. We don’t know. Anyway, I’ve looked her up in a
database of medical professionals, which I have access to for potential
telehealth needs. She’s currently living under a dome in what was once South
Africa, before the borders collapsed. I’ve reached out to her, and am
awaiting a response. Someone needs to fix this. I have attached a copy of
all of my medical records, so you can look for yourself, and give it to your
doctor. I also attached our dad’s file, with a signed cover sheet that
proves he authorized it. Please take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.
Love you so much,
Condor
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