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booked my first counseling session. You’re usually supposed to be eighteen, but as I was only a few months off they let me in a bit early, so long as the counseling went well. They had to be convinced that I was psychologically ready, that I knew what I was letting myself in for, whatever the result. Because there is no going back. There’s no cure. There’s just knowing or not knowing. Having it or not. Fifty-fifty.
    Unless, of course, you suddenly find out that you’re not actually related to anyone with Huntington’s after all. They didn’t cover that in our sessions.
    “Rosalind Kenning?” The nurse looks up from her clipboard.
    Andy squeezes my hand, and we follow her in.
    “Nice to see you, Rosie,” Dan, my genetic counselor says. “And you’ve brought a friend. Good.”
    I introduce Andy, and he sits next to me, gripping my hand tightly. I’ve never seen him so nervous.
    “Now, we’ve had your result back,” Dan begins. “And it’s good news , Rosie.” His face breaks into a wide smile. “You do not have the gene that causes Huntington’s!”
    I exhale deeply. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
    “Are you sure?” Andy asks anxiously.
    “Positive. By analyzing the number of CAG repeats on her chromosome four—fifteen and seventeen—we can determine that Rosie has definitely not inherited the gene. If she had, one of her counts would be somewhere up around forty. Rosie is well below that. She’s completely unaffected.”
    “Oh, God!” Andy grabs me in a tight hug. “Oh, thank God!”
    I let him hug me, my body limp and numb in his arms.
    Fifteen and seventeen … Mum’s were forty - five and nineteen — I don’t share either of them …
    I knew. Of course I knew, but now … it’s real.
    I don’t have Huntington’s. I never will have Huntington’s. Everything I dreaded and feared will never come true. It’ll never happen to me like it happened to Mum.
    Because she wasn’t my mother.
    Hot tears trickle down my cheeks.
    “Hey.” Andy pulls back gently and wipes my eyes. “Are you okay?”
    I nod and look away, swallowing hard.
    “Rosie, this is fantastic!” Andy grins.
    I force a tight smile.
    Yep. Fantastic.
    “It’s normal to experience a sense of shock,” Dan says gently. “With the relief can come a sense of disbelief, and even guilt. It’s perfectly normal, Rosie.”
    I smile at him, the tears still streaming down my cheeks.
    She was right. Sarah was right. There’s no going back. You either spend your life wondering, worrying, pretending … or you find out for sure.
    And now I know.
    For sure.

    I stare at the little plastic wand, waiting for my fate to be decided—revealed, really. It’s already decided, after all. Positive or negative. This is just proof. Scientific confirmation of what already is—or isn’t.
    Despite everything, I can’t help praying, can’t help hoping that somehow it’s all been a coincidence—a bad case of food poisoning, a belated growth spurt, a late period …
    I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing, hoping, praying .
    I hold my breath as I force one eyelid open.
    My heart stops and I snap my eye shut again quickly, as if I’ll get a second chance …
    I bite my lip and open my eyes.
    But it’s still the same. Of course it is. Wishing can’t change it. This isn’t a magic wand—it can’t perform miracles.
    Hot tears trickle down my cheeks and I bury my head in my hands.
    I knew—of course I knew. But now I know . For sure. Completely and irrevocably and scientifically.
    Positive .
    I’m pregnant.
    My life is over.

Chapter Six
    Negative .
    Not at risk .
    Not my mother .
    God, it’s true. It’s all true. Everything Sarah said. Though, as it turns out, she needn’t have told me after all—they didn’t compare our results, didn’t find out.
    I close my eyes, my head reeling.
    Negative .
    How can one word bring so much joy and so much despair?
    “What’s it to be? Red? White? Rosé?” Andy grins, putting