She stared longingly at the window, admiring the droplets that appeared one by one. Rain is coming, she thought, I guess now is as good as any time to tell him. She heard the sound of keys jingling in a distance. The door opened with a thud and a man with a troubled expression entered. He knelt beside the girl and placed a hand on her cheek, wiping away the tears. "What's wrong?" he asked. She didn't realize she had been crying. She wiped her other cheek with the back of her hand. Showing him her collarbone, she said, "I'm turning to glass."
"Its okay, my love," he reassured gripping her hands in his. "We'll get through this."
"It's just ...'' she couldn't formulate any words. "I just thought ..."
"That it would be too late?"
"Yeah. I mean, I thought the symptoms would only start showing up when you turned eighteen. I'm twenty now. Why is this happening?"
"Don't fret, my love. Don't worry. We'll get through this, just like we did with mine," he smiled. "We'll find a way."
"It's different for you, love," she sat with him on the floor, touching his leg. "Metal is strong and durable. I'm glass – weak and fragile."
"Don't forget, I'm malleable too, and ductile! Without you, I would just be some thin metal sheet."
She smiled. He always knew how to make her smile, and somehow those corny jokes always do the trick. "It's just, I don't know how long I'm going to last. I don't know if I'm going to be one of those people who live until their 70's or those that just wake up one day and find their whole body full of this stuff."
"Let's just sleep," he suggested. "Talk about it in the morning."
Without saying a word, she stood up and got ready for bed.
