My eyes lit up at that, and Callum chuckled, brushing another kiss on my head.
"I'll go heat it up," Callum murmured, before disappearing out the door.
I peered at Donna, who sipped her coffee before settling back into her chair. When she caught me staring, she tilted her head. "What is that expression for?"
"Is it...weirdfor you?" I asked carefully.
"What?" she blinked, genuinely confused.
"I mean," I gestured vaguely toward the hallway where Callum had disappeared. "With Callum."
She sighed deeply, considering the question for a moment before she smiled. "As a mother, all I've ever wanted for mychildren—for any child—is for them to be happy," Donna said plainly, sipping her coffee. My heart warmed instantly at the thought of her considering me one of her children, as it always did. Sometimes I still couldn't believe my luck, that she still wanted me around, this woman who was the first maternal presence I'd ever known.
Even after everything, she was still here, choosing to support me.
"You're happy with Callum. That's all that matters to me, honey."
Donna and Rich continued to come around throughout my recovery, checking on me, tidying my kitchen, folding laundry, and restocking my favorite snacks. Those mastectomy shirts Donna had bought me all those months ago ended up being perfect, and I'll never forget the first moment Callum had to empty my drains the afternoon we came home.
The walk from the hospital to his truck, from his truck to my apartment, felt like apilgrimage. By the time I was reclining on my bed, propped up by a million fluffy pillows set up by Donna, I was utterly wrung out and feeling like an elephant was sitting on my chest.
Patiently, my otter had gently guided me and held me like I was precious glass, keeping one arm on me the entire way in and taking most of my weight to help me settle.
The shirts made it easy for him to access my drains without having to take my shirt off completely. I couldn't take my eyes off him as he worked. His face pinched tight in complete concentration as he remembered the instructions the nurses had given him at the hospital, and he played a step-by-step video he found online.
His eyes would consistently glance up to meet mine, so warm and full of love, as he checked to make sure I was still doing okay, that I wasn't scared or in pain.
I wasn't. I was with him in his care. I couldn't do any better than that.
"Tell me the second it pulls or pinches," he instructed me, his voice fierce and not allowing any protest from me. Always so concerned about me. I couldn't feel anything but the pure adoration I have for this wonderful man flowing through my entire body.
"I love you," was the only thing I could whisper to him. My words made him pause, and he leaned forward to gently kiss my lips before getting back to work.
This whole recovery was raw and humbling.
Callum had to do everything for me. He was dumping out the seroma drained from my body that had to be drained three times a day. He was bathing my body because I couldn't. He was helping me into the bathroom to sit and stand, which was embarrassing for only a moment, because his look of love never wavered. He kissed away any apology I tried to make. He even helped me brush and floss my teeth when I couldn't lift my arms.
He just did it. Without flinching, without complaint, because I needed him to.
I could have asked Tess to do it, but we both knew I neededCallum.
By the third time, he was a pro and did it with calm, steady hands.
"I love you," he said one afternoon, emptying the drain. When he finished, he looked at me with a soft, reverent smile. "My beautiful girl."
Now, almost seven weeks after the surgery, I'm pretty much back to normal and able to care for myself again. The drains are gone. The scars are healing. My energy is returning.
The next step is looming, but I'm not nervous, anxious, or even weary.
I feel motivated, I feel ready.
I can face anything.
Smiling at myself in the mirror, I start to move to pull on clothes to lounge around. Radiation begins tomorrow, I'll be going five days a week now, more intensive than chemotherapy, but this is the—hopefully—final step. I'm grabbing a pair of pajamas out of my drawer when the door opens, and Callum appears.
He freezes for a moment when he sees that I'm naked, and while I know he's seen every inch of me by now, I'm still awed by the fact that his eyes darken with desire as they trail up and down my body.
No matter how I've changed, he still wants me, still desires me.
