Chapter 12 - The Number That Dropped
Dr. Patel studied the bloodwork twice.
Sophie sat perfectly still.
I had learned that stillness meant fear.
“Your platelet count has dropped significantly.”
“Cancer?”
“Not necessarily.”
He explained that chemotherapy could suppress bone marrow.
He wanted to delay treatment again.
Sophie’s face fell.
“Another delay?”
“Your body needs recovery time.”
“But every delay gives the lymphoma time.”
“Not in the way you’re imagining.”
She looked unconvinced.
I knew that expression because I had worn it for months after Emma died.
The belief that disaster was always one missed step away.
Back at the apartment, Sophie paced.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate waiting.”
“I know.”
“I hate everybody telling me to be patient.”
“I know.”
She turned sharply.
“Stop saying you know.”
I stopped.
“I don’t need agreement.”
“What do you need?”
She looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
That answer surprised her.
I sat down.
After several minutes, she sat beside me.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being scared.”
“I’m angry all the time.”
“Then be angry.”
“At you?”
“If necessary.”
A weak smile.
“Dangerous offer.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
Her expression softened.
“No, you haven’t.”
She was right.
Two days later, her counts dropped again.
A bone marrow biopsy was scheduled.
The night before, Sophie couldn’t sleep.
At three in the morning, she found me on the couch.
“What if it’s in my marrow?”
I sat up.
“Then we deal with what the doctors tell us.”
“What if treatment isn’t working?”
“Then we hear the next option.”
“What if there isn’t one?”
I had no answer.
She sat beside me.
“Say something.”
Every instinct wanted to promise survival.
I refused.
“I’m scared too.”
She stared at me.
“I hate that answer.”
“So do I.”
Then she took my hand.
“But thank you.”
The biopsy came back negative for lymphoma involvement.
Chemotherapy was responsible for the low counts.
Another frightening shadow.
Another disaster that hadn’t happened.
But relief came with a price.
Dr. Patel reduced the next dose.
Sophie hated that.
That evening, I drove to our old house alone.
I stood inside the empty nursery.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Rachel.
CALL ME.
I called.
Her voice was shaking.
“Ethan, Sophie doesn’t know I’m telling you this.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“She fainted at the grocery store.”
I was already moving toward the door.
Then Rachel said the words that made me stop.
May you like
“She made me promise that if things get worse, you won’t give up Washington because of her.”
And I realized Sophie was still preparing for a future she feared she might never see.
