So, difficult, but not impossible. That's all I need to get by, just a small flicker of hope that I can tend to and turn it into an inferno. I nod my head in understanding and turn to Callum, who smiles softly at me, on the same wavelength. I don't even have to say it out loud. If it's just us, then that's okay. If we can conceive one day, that would be amazing too.
I just want to enjoy the here and now with Callum for a little longer.
"These medications aren't safe for you to take during a pregnancy, so when or if you decide to start trying, let us know. We can plan a treatment pause. Many women safely conceive after completing therapy or during a supervised break."
"And follow-up visits?" Callum asks, voice steady now, like he wants every detail locked down.
"Every three months for the first year," Dr. Rajab replies. "Then every six months for several years, then yearly. Bloodwork and exams at each visit. If anything ever feels unusual—new pain, swelling, lumps—you call me. Immediately."
"Okay," I nod my head, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Dr. Rajab reaches out, and when I offer my hand, he wraps his warm palms around mine in a gesture that feels so human.
"You showed up to every appointment. You endured treatment after treatment. And youwon, Sophie. Go celebrate this day."
???
Callum and I haven't let go of each other since we walked out of the office. We stand near the passenger side of his truck, my arms locked around my neck and his around my waist.
Cancer-free, the words roll around my head, filling me with this buzzy, giddy feeling that makes me want to scream out in excitement. No cancer. No evidence of cancer. All of the pain, the nausea, the loss of my hair, the total disruption of my life—it was all worth it in the end.
"I love you, I love you, I love you..." Callum repeats against my hair like a vow, a promise, his voice thick with emotion.
"I love you, Callum," I laugh through tears, pressing kisses to any bit of his skin I can—his cheeks, his jaw, his warm throat. "I'm so happy."
He pulls back only enough to kiss me, deep and unashamed in the middle of this parking lot. I can vaguely hear people walking into the building, walking to their cars, life going on, and I don't even care who sees us. I kiss Callum back, my hands cupping his jaw, and I pour all of my love and gratitude into it.
Callum squeezes my waist once before he murmurs against my lips. "Can I show you something, baby?"
"Of course," I reply immediately.
He opens my door, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and settles me into the passenger seat. He even buckles me in with quick hands and an excited, childlike smile stretched across his face, which makes me laugh. He practically sprints around to his side before pulling out onto the road.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into a quiet neighborhood inStarling Covethat I've never been to before. He stops the truck in front of an absolutely beautiful, modest two-story Victorian house with aSOLDsign on the front lawn.
It's painted a dark mossy green and definitely needs a fresh coat, with weathered white shutters and crescent moons carved into it, giving it an almost mystical feel. A porch with dark wooden railings and thick posts wraps around to the back. From here, I can see a tall Maple tree with wide, lush green foliage, vibrant against the summer sun.
It looks like a fairy tale house.
I turn to Callum with a questioning look, but he just gazes at the house with a soft, nostalgic smile.
"This is my childhood home."
"Oh, Callum," I gasp, glancing back to the home I've heard so much about from Callum and Maeve. The house his father practically crafted by hand to fulfill his wife's dreams. I should have known from the moons and the unused flowerbeds in the front yard. "It's beautiful."
"I contacted the new owner and asked if I could take a walk-through. I wanted to show it to you," Callum says, already stepping out of the truck and walking around to my side. He holds my hand all the way up onto the porch, the wood creaking beneath our feet, and I see Callum take a deep breath before he opens the front door.
"Oh, wow..." I murmur once we step inside. Even with the low tone of my voice, it still echoes through the empty house.
While I know Callum hasn't lived in this house for almost a decade, I can still see the touches William Rhodes put in this place for his family.
As soon as you walk in, the living room is to the left. My eyes immediately go to the large brick fireplace, bracketed by stunning built-in dark-wood shelving to fill with books and knick-knacks. The flooring is the same hardwood, with a coupleof dents and divots here and there, making it feel wonderfully lived in.
Callum guides us further into the house, showing me the dining room, where they had family dinners filled with laughter, and where his mom would read his and his dad's tarot. The kitchen is an absolute dream, with wooden counters and cabinets painted robin's-egg blue, a huge stove, and a farmhouse sink.
"I used to press flowers for essential oils with my mom there," Callum says, pointing to the island. He smiles as if lost in the memory, and I squeeze his hand, laying my head on his shoulder. He laughs, "I swear the rose and lavender seeped into my pores, I was the best-smelling twelve-year-old in class."
I laugh as I walk around the kitchen, stepping toward the door leading to the backyard. My smile only grows when I finally see the treehouse in the Maple tree, the one he used to escape into and read for hours. I can't help but picture Callum as a child scurrying up the ladder, weighed down by all the stories he held in his backpack.
