Lucita sat with her mother in the waiting room for the assessment results. It had been a long and arduous morning. Both of them took their assessments separately before grabbing lunch. They told them to return later in the day for the results as it would take a while. But they were back now.

“Whatever happens, we’ll be okay,” said her mother, holding her hand and lacing her fingers through hers.

Luci nodded. These results were the least of her worries.

She should tell her mother, but she feared how she would react. Would she be mad? Would she be disappointed? What would she do?

“Mom—”

They were interrupted by the psychologist stepping into the waiting room. “I’ve got the results ready for you. Let’s have a discussion.”

Lucita swallowed deeply.

They followed Ms. Enno’s colleague into his office, taking a seat across from him.

“So, I’ve gone over the results, and it is my professional opinion that the both of you have been living with bipolar disorder.” Her mother’s grip on her hand tightened.

“What…can you please elaborate?” asked her mother, her voice shaking.

“Ms. Gonzales, you have bipolar, as does your daughter. Now, this isn’t anything to be scared of. With medication, it is manageable. However, I hesitate to give your daughter any medication.”

“Why?” asked Lucita, looking back and forth between her mother and the doctor.

“Lucita,” he said, looking at her straight in the eye, “you have a different form of bipolar than your mother. We don’t generally use the term manic depressive anymore, but that is what better suits you rather than lumping you in with bipolar disorder. Everyone is different, and you and your mom are different. You’re still young, and compared to others I have treated, I would say you are a mild, manageable case. As long as you continue therapy, you should be fine. Should the time you need medication come, if ever, we can discuss that at a later date.

“I also have to note the blood work came back as well. You’re anemic. This makes your symptoms worse. The way you described your symptoms and the way they physically affect you is a byproduct of not only the bipolar but your anemia as well. Any over-the-counter iron pills should help. But again, if it doesn’t, we will discuss it when the time arrives.”

He looked back at her mother. “However, Ms. Gonzales, you have a different sort of bipolar. For you, I have to insist on medication and regular therapy. I’m more than happy to refer you to a different doctor. I have looked at your health insurance, and I am covered under your plan, so I am willing to offer you my services if you desire.”

Her mother’s grip on her hand had loosened, and Luci looked up at her mother to see her crying. She rarely saw her mother crying. Luci just wanted to hold her mother. But then she saw that her mother was smiling. Was she happy?

“Mom?”

Her mother looked at her, then did something she hadn’t done since Luci was a child: she tenderly stroked her hair. “It’s okay, mijita. We have answers now.” She swallowed, let out a cough to pull herself together, and wiped away her tears before looking back at the man across from her.

“I would like to see you if possible, and I will take the medication. I want…I need to be better for my daughter.”

He nodded approvingly. “All right.”

Luci sat with her mother at dinner that night, thinking about the weight behind her words. She had to tell her.

“What should we watch tonight, mijita?”

“Hmm, oh, um, can we wait? I have to tell you something?”

Her mother just stared at her, shutting off the TV and sitting beside her. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Mom,” she could feel her eyes begin to water, “Mom, I messed up.”

And then it all came out like word vomit. She was so scared that her mother would hate her again, that she would ruin this version of her mother, would ruin the version of herself she had put together for her mother. She was also scared of chickening out. But she had to tell her everything. About the photos, about Liz’s plan to fail her, about the way Francis had forced himself on her again and again.

When she was done, she was crying, and her mother had just pulled herself into her arms, holding her tight against her chest.

“Shh, it’s okay, mijita. It’ll be okay.” Luci felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. And for the first time in a long time, she felt warm and safe in her mother’s arms. They had answers, but more importantly, they had each other.

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