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You have to tell her. It’ll hurt, for both of you, but she needs to know. You can’t spare her feelings any longer. She said it would pass, and you believed her. You waited. Nothing changed. There's no more running from it.
"Miss?"
She doesn't respond. Her gaze is transfixed on the disassembled shell in front of her, brow furrowed in concentration. You clear your throat (a pointless action driven by force of habit) and try again.
"Excuse me, Miss?"
She looks over at you with a start. "Oh! You startled me! What is it, little one?" She pushes the shell back a few inches and turns her chair to face you.
"It hasn't gone away."
"What?"
"The cold. You said it would go away in time. It hasn't." Your face and voice are impassive, but one knee quivers slightly.
"Th-... Hm. I see." She looks disoriented. "I… am going to think over what to do about that, while I finish up these repairs. Go ahead and go downstairs and… just… don't touch anything hot until I come and talk to you, okay?"
You give a slight nod and turn to leave. As you reach the door, she calls after you, "Things will make more sense after we talk. Hopefully we can figure something out."