It’s what Mark wants. And I get it. If they’d only found his cancer earlier then things might be different.
Juggling everything is difficult but having Patrick with us over weekends is more helpful than I’ll ever admit.
He’s getting closer to us—it can’t be helped. But myhead’s still so full of everything happening with Mark that I can’t face talking to him about Sophie.
That can wait until I’m ready.
Although, from the amount of time he spends with us, he has to have worked it out a long time ago. I just don’t have the emotional strength to deal with it.
Mark gets weaker by the day. He’s still mobile, but struggling. It’s so hard to watch, but we all do our best to keep optimistic.
Lauren worries me. She floats in and out and gets less focused every time we see her. In the past, when Mark was concerned, he’d track her down and talk some sense into her. But that’s not something he’s capable of doing anymore, and she gets defensive if I try.
It’s become a normal weekend for Mark and Patrick to be in front of the television watching some sport. They’ve become friends which is weird.
I’m not as resentful as I first was about Mark inviting Patrick to spend time with us. But I do what I can to avoid speaking to Patrick alone. If Mark wants to have a close friend he can trust in his final days, that’s all well and good. But there’s still so much to deal with when it comes to Patrick and me.
I have so many regrets. Mark and I never married. Never even really talked about it. We were just content to be together and that was that. I’m sad that we never got to have a baby together.
I know he would’ve been a good dad—heisa good dad to Sophie.
It hurts and I’m bottling it all up for Mark’s sake.
It’s not good for me but I can’t let go of it or I’ll fall apart, and Sophie needs me to be strong.
The only moments I allow myself to weaken are when I know Patrick has my back—he’s stepped in and bought dinner more than once to give me a break.
It’s been three months since we ran into him at the hospital. Almost three months of him arriving on a Friday night and leaving Sunday afternoon. It’s become as routine as everything else around here.
Standing in the dining room, I rake my fingers through my hair. I’m tired—this whole thing is exhausting—but I want as much time as possible with Mark. Sophie’s tucked herself away in her room. She seems to do that more often these days, but I think she’s mourning what’s to come in her own way.
“You should go and take a nap, love,” Mark calls from the living room. “You look like you're asleep on your feet.”
Patrick turns to look at me. “I’ve got this. Take a break.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“Cassie, I really need you to go,” Mark says.
I frown, and Patrick shifts his gaze to Mark. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t want her to see this.”
“See what?” I cover the distance between rooms and circle the couch until I’m facing him.
His breathing’s laboured, but he’s doing what he can to hide it.
“Mark?” I drop onto my knees in front of him.
“Mark, mate. Tell me what’s happening.” Patrick’s got his attention fully focused on him now.
He raises his hand to his chest. “It hurts here.”
“What about your left arm?”
“That too.”
Patrick nods. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
