I nod slowly, barely breathing.
"But the truth was..." His grip on my hand tightens—tight enough to hurt. "Sam was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia when she was only eight."
I suck in a sharp gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.
No.
No, no, no.
Sam? Our Sam? Cancer? At eight?
My chest twists painfully.
Zach drags a shaky hand over his face. "I had no idea," he murmurs, voice breaking. "Not a clue. My little sister... myangel... she'd already fought cancer once as a kid, and I didn't even know. They hid it from me. All of it."
His jaw tightens—anger, hurt, betrayal all tangled together.
"I only found out after my first college game," he says, swallowing hard. "Sam and Mom drove all the way to Miami to watch me play. Everyone was hyped for that night—coaches, scouts... everyone wanted to see how I'd perform my first time on NCAA ice. And honestly?" He lets out a tired, hollow laugh. "I killed it. Best game I'd played in months."
Then his face falls.
"And then my mom called." The words come out thin, like he's reliving it. "They never even made it inside the arena. Sam collapsed in the parking lot."
My breath catches. His fingers tighten around mine.
"I rushed to the hospital the moment Mom called," he continues, "They ran everything—tests, scans, bloodwork... More tests. And then—after what felt like forever—the doctors told us."
He swallows hard, chest rising unevenly.
"It was cancer," he says, voice cracking. "Again. Her AML had come back."
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.
"I didn't think anything could hurt worse than losing Dad," he whispers, eyes shining. "But seeing Sam like that—weak, pale, hooked up to machines... fighting for her life again? That... that was a different kind of pain. Something I didn't know was possible."
His voice drops to a trembling whisper.
"She was sixteen," he gets out, tears spilling freely. "Sixteen, and battling the same goddamn cancer that took our Dad."
A tear slips down his cheek before he can wipe it away. He doesn't bother hiding the others that follow.
"Mom completely fell apart," he croaks. "And I was just... eighteen. A freshman. Suddenly juggling classes, hockey, practices, games... and trying to be strong for both of them. I couldn't focus. I couldn't think. I'd show up to practice, to games... but I wasn't really there. It felt like I was drowning every single day and nobody noticed. I was scared. I was angry. I was overwhelmed and alone."
His breathing stutters.
"It was the darkest time of my life," he whispers. "Watching Sam get weaker every day, not knowing if I'd lose her too. Watching Mom break. Trying to hold both of them together when I was barely holding myself upright."
He gives a small, empty laugh. "I didn't sleep. I barely ate. I couldn't keep up with school. Couldn't keep up with hockey. It felt like I was suffocating."
I don't speak.
But inside, something in me is tearing open.
Piece by piece.
Word by word.
He takes a shaky breath.
