I run my hand over her head and see that her teeth are chattering. She's hugging the blankets to her tighter, a sheen ofsweat on her head and neck. My voice is wobbly when I gently shake her, "Sophie?"
She moans but says nothing else. My pulse spikes and I shake her again, a little harder.
"Sophie? Come on, baby, talk to me—how are you feeling?" I coax, and when she doesn't move or respond, the panic scrapes her voice from my throat. "Sophie!"
She whines, "I'm trying... Callum, I'm trying, I— I can't wake up... heavy... too heavy..."
The thermometer beeps, and my stomach plummets when I read it.
"100.9."
"Callum, listen to me," Oliver says, his voice clipped and urgent. "Her immune system is practically gone right now. The chemo kills the cancer cells—but it also wipes out her white blood cells. She doesn't have the defenses to fight off anything. Even a mild cold could be deadly—"
My ears start ringing, and his voice fades into nothing.
I stare at Sophie's face—too pale, her lips trembling, her chest rising and falling too fast. She's murmuring nonsense, half-dreaming, half-delirious, and my brain can't catch up with what's happening.
I got too caught up in the weekend, in wanting to make this weekend special for her—an escape from cancer, from worry, from sickness. I wanted her to have something beautiful, something normal.
And instead, I gave herthis.
Deadly.The word echoes, sharp and unrelenting, in my brain. My vision blurs, my eyes sting, and I feel like I'm lifting from my body.
Deadly, deadly, deadly...
"Callum!"
Oliver's voice snaps me back, loud and commanding throughthe phone.
"Y-Yeah?"
"Callum, you have to get her to the hospital—right now."
All my fault, all my fault, all my fault.
???
When we called 911, the operator's voice was stressed and overwhelmed, and they informed us they were dealing with a high volume of callers reporting injuries from the storm, including car accidents, trees falling through homes, and power lines down.
"Might be a while before someone can reach you, sir."
When it rains, it pours.
I couldn't—wouldn't—wait.
"Come on, baby," I murmur, sliding my arms under Sophie's trembling body. The moment my hands touch her fever-hot skin, she flinches, a tiny whimper escaping her cracked lips.
"... hurts," she breathes, and the sound tears a hole open inside of me.All my fault, all my fault.
"I know, I'm sorry," I whisper, wrapping her in one of my hoodies, the fabric swallowing her in a way that should look cute—should make us both smile—but she's shivering too hard to notice. I tuck a thick quilted blanket around her, pull the hood over her damp scalp, and slide a pair of my socks over her bare feet.
You should've driven her sooner. You should've known. You should've protected her.
We rush her out to my truck, and my mom opens the back seat and hops in. Carefully, I lay Sophie down, and my mom guides her head to her lap. I pull away from the curb, my truck navigating this storm better than Sophie's car did, but I'm still driving extremely carefully, avoiding trash cans and fallenbranches in the road. My tires are big enough not to be affected by the flooding on the road.
The steering wheel is almost crushed under my grip as I quietly curse myself the entire way. The only sounds in the truck are Sophie's panting breaths, moans of pain, and my mom's soft humming. My jaw is clenched so tight it aches.
Then she goes silent, and that's when my panic skyrockets.
