"Tell me what happened,"
He doesn't answer right away. Just exhales — long, uneven — like the words are heavy in his chest.
Then he tells me everything.
Sam waking up doubled over in pain.
The vomiting.
The way she couldn't catch a breath.
The panic.
The tests to check for an obstruction, perforation.
The horror of waiting.
By the time he finishes, he looks wrecked all over again.
"Oh my God..." I whisper.
His fingers drag through his hair — frantic, tight — like he's trying to rip the images out of his skull.
"Yeah. It was... horrible." He presses his palms to his temples.
"I can't shake the image of Sam doubled over, vomiting in agony. It just replays over and over in my head. And the longer I wait, the more terrified I get. What if Dr. Wilcott finds something even worse? What if she needs surgery, and then her chemo's postponed, and the cancer... if chemo gets delayed—"
"Babe," I whisper, placing my hand on his knee gently. "you're overthinking again."
"Yeah," he breathes. "I know. I just... I can't stop."
I lift his chin. "It might turn out to be nothing more than a bowel inflammation flare-up. It could be her meds messing with her system. They warned us this might happen. It doesn't automatically mean the worst."
Zach exhales. He glances toward Sam's sleeping form, fear still in his eyes.
"I just can't help feeling this way. Every time I look at her, I keep thinking she's already been through hell and here she is, hurting again, and I'm just—" His jaw clenches. "I'm sitting here useless."
"You're not useless," I say immediately.
He shakes his head, not believing me at all.
"You didn't see her earlier, babe," he says, voice cracking again. "She was shaking so hard, and crying to make the pain stop, and I—" His breath shudders out. "I'm scared. I'm fucking scared."
My chest aches so fiercely I have to blink fast.
I lace our fingers together and squeeze.
"Anyone would be scared," I say softly. "This is... a lot to take in and you haven't slept properly in days," I continue gently. "You barely eat. You never leave her side. Your body can't keep up with that kind of stress, babe. You're going to burn out."
"I don't care," he mutters. "She needs me."
"And she needs youfunctional," I counter. "you can't support Sam if you're falling apart yourself. I'm really worried about you. I'm scared you'll collapse one day from exhaustion."
"You're right. I'm sorry... I just can't help it."
He deflates a little at that — shoulders sagging, exhaustion settling even deeper in his bones.
"I should've seen it sooner."
