Page 93 of The Song We Lost

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“I’m serious,” she continues. “You worked too hard. You built too much.”

“I built it for us,” I snapped. “For this.”

“For what?” she asks softly. “For you to burn yourself out trying to save me?”

The silence between us stretches.

“I need you to live your big beautiful life for me,” Sadie says quietly. “I need you… she is going to need you..”

That hurts more than any prognosis.

“You have me,” I say.

“Then if you choose to stay, actuallybehere,” she replies. “Not in a medical journal. Not in a spreadsheet or on phones with doctors all over the world. Be here with me.”

My phone vibrates again.

Unknown number.

I ignore it, but it buzzes again. I answer without looking.

“What?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then a familiar voice. “Easy, Brooks.”

Jackson.

I close my eyes.

“What do you want?” I ask, softer now.

“I was told you’re refusing to record,” he says lightly. “And that usually means something big is going on. You don’t come across as someone who flakes.”

I swallow.

“Who told you?”

“The label won’t say why,” he replies. “Just that you’re pushing back hard. That’s not like you.”

It isn’t.

Sadie kisses my cheek and then walks away, towards the kitchen, Cole following behind her.

I turn, staring at the unbuilt crib, at the swatches and baby books.

I didn’t mean to tell him.

I meant to deflect.

Instead, the words slip out.

“She’s dying.”

Silence, but it isn’t awkward. It is a silence I learned meant Jackson was ready to listen.