She chuckles, uncrosses her legs, and leans forward to plant her hands over her knees, and my body winds tighter than a bowstring. There’s no table between us this time, nothing to hide behind.
“The results of your imaging aren’t what we’d been hoping for, Adhira. I’m sorry, but you aren’t in remission yet.”
A coldness I’ve never experienced before washes over me, my scalp prickling with awareness as hot tears flood my vision, but I refuse to break. Not yet.Not here.
Elijah was right. I should have let him come with me.
“What’s next?” I ask around a mouthful of saliva, my throat raw and heart heavy. I want to sob, but I will the tears to remain in place, pleading for the composure necessary to hear her out and listen for the solution.
Dr. Alvarez snags a yellow floral box from the counter, thrusting the tissues into my lap, but I remain unmoving, my eyes locked on a speck of dirt smudging the wall just past her head.
“While you’re not in remissionyet”—she stresses the word—“this isn’t entirely bad news. Your scans suggest they’re only focally positive, so the chemoisworking. This means you don’t require radiation, and it’s my belief that after two more cycles of chemo, you shouldn’t need further treatment. We can’t know for sure, but all the signs are there, Adhira. I just need you to hold on with me.”
“Two more cycles?” I ask, my voice cracking as the weight of the last two months of utter hell washes over me like a tsunami.In the same breath, I feel the hollow guilt that presses on me. Sure, chemo had sucked, but I've read the forums. Seen the life get sucked out of people in far worse condition than I've ever been. It could've been so much worse.
It could have failed to work.Been for nothing.
But it wasn't.
“Two more cycles, Adhira,” she confirms. “Your prognosis is excellent, even if this isn’t the outcome we’d been hoping for.”
I steady my resolve, fighting back the current of emotions as images of everyone I’ve been lying to, hiding from, and disappointing—even if they didn’t know it—flit through my mind, snaring me in my web of lies. “Two more. I can manage that.” There’s no real alternative.Not one where I live.
She spends the rest of our appointment reassuring me, going through the most up-to-date research, explaining my staging and post-treatment results, and walking me through all of my imaging and labs so I can put a face to the name, so to speak. When she’s done, I have no idea how I make it home, but I stumble through the door like a hurricane sent straight from hell.
“Adhira! I madeKhandvito cele—” Elijah’s excited voice dies out, crashing around me like waves on the shore, dissolving into a tense silence. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low as he approaches me like I’m a wild animal backed against a wall, and in many ways,I am.
“Elijah,” I whisper. Months of denial, pretending that statistics outweighed the reality of variability and the unknown outlier, claw at the edges of my mind, and I succumb to them, desperate for comfort, for someone to help carry the weight I’ve kept buried. “I think I need a hug,” I finally manage, and his arms are around me in an instant, crushing me to his solid, warm chest, holding me safe and secure.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
Nothing else mattersbeyond the woman in my arms, her body trembling with fear.
I clutch her tight, cutting off some of her air, but she doesn’t seem to mind, burying herself in my embrace as she has been my heart these last few months.
“Elijah,” she says between choked sobs. My chest aches, the urge to rub my palm over the sore spot growing fiercer with every passing second.
“Yes, sweetheart?” I whisper into her hair, sucking in deep breaths of shared oxygen, binding myself to her in any way I can—something to hold on to if the day ever comes that steals her away from me.
“It’s not gone yet. I have to do the chemo all over again.” She hiccups around the words, her body revolting against the news she’d received.
My heart plummets. Guilt settles heavily in my chest for letting her talk me out of going with her this morning. I’d wanted to respect her wishes, but now I regret not pushing the issue further.
I run a palm over her head, pushing her hair out of her face as she shatters in my arms, her knees buckling, unable to hold herself up.
“You’ve been so strong, Adhira,” I remind her. “So bloody strong. But it’s okay to fall apart sometimes.”
Her trembling limbs steady, and she peers up at me with tear-stained cheeks, puffy red eyes, and so much trust it kills me, anguish bubbling over from the basin at the surface of my soul. “I’m tired, Elijah,” she whispers.
“I know, sweetheart. I can only imagine.”
“I’m tired of being so goddamn strong all the time,” she says, lips quivering, tears spilling over, and another sob tears from her throat. My body moves on instinct alone as I slide my hands down her waist, tugging her up against me before carrying her to bed.
I settle in behind her, dragging her covers over us. Steeling the barrier between my heart and mind, I hold firm, focusing on her needs above all else. There’ll be plenty of time for me to fall apart, but only after Adhira has wrung every tear from the chasm of her waterlogged spirit.
Time crawls by, Adhira’s sobs melting into quiet, trembling whimpers, followed by a painful silence that slices me in two, but I don’t dare move until she asks me for water and pain medication for her headache.
