Darrell let out a hollow laugh. My news had clearly derailed whatever script he'd rehearsed.
Then his phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced down, a flicker of panic crossing his face. I was close enough to see the screen. The message was from Naomi.
Probably asking if he'd told me yet.
Darrell drew a long breath, as if steeling himself for something.
I seized the moment. "Didn't you say you had something to tell me too?"
His lips curved into a stiff half-smile, and his words came out halting. "Right. I... also have news."
He fumbled in his pocket for what felt like forever before finally producing a crumpled diagnosis report.
I put on my most expectant face and waited for him to speak.
"Regina, I went to the hospital today too. But my news... isn't good."
I played along, letting the smile drain from my face inch by inch, eyes widening as I stared at him.
Darrell turned the diagnosis report to face me. "I've been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer."
I looked at the forged document. I knew it was fake, but this was a performance. The props might be fake, but the emotions had to be real.
"Darrell, it has to be a misdiagnosis. You've always been so healthy."