Pain. Grief.Rage.
But I didn’t. I had no idea what true heartbreak felt like.
Not until this moment.
I know that I will never forget it. That amidst everything else in my life, amongst every bad memory, this one –thisis the one that will haunt me.
Because he has no idea what’s wrong.
“Em?” Ben is starting to look worried. “Why are you crying?”
I shake my head, forcing a smile. “I’ll tell you at home. Let’s go home, okay?”
But he’s staring down the road again. “Why are we here?”
“It’s okay,” I say again. It’s the only thing I can say, as I reach for his hand and force the tears back around the aching in my throat. “It’s going to be okay, Ben.”
It’s not going to be okay.
None of this is okay.
But he grips my hand tightly, and lets me lead him off the road, on to the safety of the sidewalk. People give us a wide berth, whispering behind their hands.
One woman has her phone out. She pales when I turn to glare at her, lowering the screen.
“Emmy?” Ben mumbles my name. “What’s happening?”
He sounds so young. Young, and vulnerable, andscared. So scared that I stop in the middle of the street and wrap my arms around him. My tears spill over, soaking into his chest as I grip him tightly, listening for his heartbeat. “Everything is going to be fine. We’re going home now, okay?”
And Ben’s heart – his strong, sure heart – it stutters beneath my ear. “But home is the other way.”
My eyes close. “I found a shortcut. I’ll show you.”
14
Ben
Idon’t remember coming here.
I stare at the wall in my line of sight before my eyes drop down.
I feel tired. Tired enough to have run a marathon. My whole body is aching as I take in Emmy, her back leaning against the couch I’m lying on.
She’s gripping one of my hands in hers, the other scrolling through her phone. She’s so focused that she doesn’t notice me watching her.
I squint, taking in the text on the screen. Even that hurts my eyes.
Not nearly as much as the understanding that punches straight between my lungs.
“Glioblastoma,” I whisper.
Emmy almost shrieks, her head whipping around. “You’re awake.”
“Glioblastoma,” I say again. “That’s what it’s called.”
I feel almost numb as the word rolls off my tongue. I can’t remember the last time I mentioned it out loud.
“Okay,” she says slowly. But her face has paled. “Okay. So – we need to look at treatment—,”
