We have always told each other everything. I even told him when I had sex for the first time, which wasn't a pleasant conversation, and the memory causes a full-body shudder. I don't know who was more uncomfortable with that conversation, me or him.
“What did the doctors say?”
Sadness settles over his face, heavy and unmistakable. He takes the hot chocolate to place on the blanket so he can take my other hand, forcing me to look at him. I feel this weight in my stomach, and I know whatever he says next is going to destroy me, and we will never be the same again.
“I've been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.”
The world stops. The air is ripped from my lungs, like I've been pulled underwater. My grip slackens, but he doesn't let go—not for a second.
“You’re wrong,” I choke. “They’re wrong. The doctors have to be wrong—”
“I really wish they were.”
My heart shatters. The wind picks up, the waves crashing harder against the rocks, mirroring the way I feel.
“No. No, I don't believe it. You're fine. You're healthy. You're you.” My lip trembles. “You can't—this isn't—no. No, no, no.”
I wrench away and stand, my body shaking. He's up instantly, blankets forgotten, hot chocolate spilling uselessly onto the floor.
“Willow, look at me.”
I shake my head, tears blurring everything as I scrub my face. I want to scream at the sky. Curse God, even if he doesn't exist.
Dad cups my face gently, forcing my eyes to meet his as I break apart.
“Breathe for me,” he says softly. “Okay? Deep breaths. Slow. One… two… three.”
I clutch at my chest, dragging air into my lungs that refuse to cooperate.
“That’s it.” he wipes my tears away. “You’re doing so well.”
I can't believe I’m having a panic attack when I’m not the one who is dying; he is.
“They have to be wrong,” I sob.
He pushes my hair back, forehead resting against mine. “I wish they were. But there's nothing they can do.”
My voice breaks completely. “What am I supposed to do without you?”
“Live,” he replies, like it's so simple. “Live a beautiful life like I've always wanted you to. Dance. Laugh. Maybe fall in love—though no man will ever be good enough for you.”
Another broken sob escapes me, and somehow he laughs through his own.
“You'll make mistakes,” he continues gently. “Everyone does. But you'll never be alone. And I’m not gone yet, sweets. I’msticking around as long as I can—just so you can keep trying to annoy me.”
I cover my face, collapsing into him. The thought of a world without him feels unbearable.
Nobody deserves this. Especially him.
He held me for a long time. Long enough that the last smear of sunset disappears completely, replaced by a sky scattered with stars so bright they almost hurt to look at. The moon hangs low, painting the water silver as the tide breathes in and out.
I curl into him like I always have, my cheek pressed to his chest, memorising the sound of his heartbeat. It's comforting. I cling to it as if I can somehow stitch it into my mind, afraid that if I don't remember it perfectly, I’ll lose it forever.
The world keeps moving around us—waves breaking, wind tugging at the blanket, the distant call of seagulls—but everything else feels suspended. It's just us. Like it's always been.
My fingers twist into his jacket, knuckles aching from how tightly I’m holding on. I don't want to let go. I don't want to keep going. Because I already know, deep in my soul, that one day—sooner than I’m ready for—this sound beneath my ear will stop.
When it does, I’m terrified mine might follow it.
