Chapter 1 - The Word I Wasn’t Ready to Hear
The word oncology stayed in my head long after the nurse stopped speaking.
Sophie slowly pushed herself upright against the wall.
I reached for her arm.
She pulled away.
“I can stand by myself.”
Her voice was weak, but the boundary was unmistakable.
The nurse glanced between us.
“Are you family?”
I opened my mouth.
Sophie answered first.
“No.”
One word shouldn’t have hurt that much.
But it did.
The nurse helped Sophie toward the oncology doors while I stood frozen in the hallway.
“Sophie.”
She stopped.
“I need to know what’s happening.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“You needed to know two months ago.”
“I know.”
“No, Ethan.”
Her eyes filled, but she refused to let the tears fall.
“You know now because you accidentally walked down the wrong hallway.”
I had no defense.
The nurse quietly stepped away to give us privacy.
I moved closer.
“What did they find?”
Sophie stared at me for several seconds.
Then she finally said it.
“Lymphoma.”
The hallway tilted beneath my feet.
“What stage?”
“Stage three.”
My mouth went dry.
“When did you find out?”
“The first biopsy came back the week before our divorce hearing.”
I thought of those four calls.
Those four voicemails.
Those four chances.
“How long have you been getting treatment?”
“Seven weeks.”
I stared at her shortened hair.
Suddenly I understood.
The weight loss.
The exhaustion.
The IV.
The strange fragility that had replaced the woman I remembered.
“Who brings you here?”
“Usually nobody.”
“Who stays with you?”
“Nobody.”
Anger rose inside me.
Not at her.
At myself.
“You’re doing chemotherapy alone?”
Her expression hardened.
“You don’t get to sound offended.”
“I’m not offended.”
“You look angry.”
“I am.”
“At me?”
“At the man who deleted four messages from his wife without listening to them.”
Her face changed.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Sophie whispered something that stripped away every defense I had left.
“You weren’t my husband anymore.”
I swallowed.
“I was when you called.”
The tears finally appeared.
“Yes.”
She turned away.
“And that was exactly why it hurt.”
The oncology doors opened.
A doctor stepped out and called her name.
Sophie took one step toward him.
Then she suddenly swayed.
I caught her before her knees struck the floor.
Her body felt frighteningly light in my arms.
The doctor rushed forward.
“Sophie?”
Her eyes fluttered.
The doctor checked her pulse.
Then his expression sharpened.
“Her temperature is too high.”
He looked toward the nurse.
“Cancel infusion.”
My heart started pounding.
“What does that mean?”
The doctor looked directly at me.
“It means chemotherapy can wait.”
He paused.
May you like
“Right now, infection may be the bigger danger.”
And as Sophie went limp against my chest, I understood that finding her might not mean I had found her in time.
