I didn’t have a clue back then about contaminations or that man-made materials could be so deadly.
My ignorance had given me extra pocket money, but at what price?
John put his head in his hands, elbows wedged on his knees.
I wanted to pat his back and assure him that whatever conclusions his doctor was cooking were wrong. I wanted to say I’d worn masks and gloves and knew what the hell I was dealing with.
But the lies solidified on my tongue and terror turned into stones inside me.
No one spoke.
All of us dealing with ramifications, deep in separate thought. Shakes infected me the more I fell into the pit of despair.
“Right then.” The doctor shattered the taut silence, scribbling more notes. Spinning in his chair, he faced the computer and started typing with two fingers. “There are numerous explanations for your symptoms, so we’re not going to worry just yet. You’re young and fit, which is always a good thing.” He threw me a look, stabbing his fingers on the keys. The process was laborious and not at all smooth like Della’s typing.
“However, I’ve dealt with a lot of claimants over the years and learned that jumping to conclusions can sometimes be a good thing.” His eyes burned into me. “Sometimes, they can save a life.”
Hitting enter, a printer whirred into action.
Grabbing the document, he signed it then passed it to me. “You need to go to the hospital. I’ve referred you for blood tests, X-rays, and possibly a CT scan.”
“What? Why?” The stones inside me manifested into rocks, weighing me down, pushing a painful cough from my lips.
“I’m not wasting time testing for bacterial infections or immune deficiencies. I’ve dealt with too many cases not to see the warning signs. Once I know the answer to this question, then we’ll look at other possibilities.”
“The answer to what question?” John asked, his voice tight, face harrowed.
“The warning signs of what?” I blurted at the same time.
Giving us both a grave look, the doctor answered us in one go, announcing the nature of my death. “Mesothelioma.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
DELLA
* * * * * *
2031
HE NEVER TOLD me.
After decades together, unbreakable trust, and a never ending connection, he didn’t tell me.
He
didn’t
tell
me.
Just writing those words breaks my heart into smithereens.
It breaks me in so many ways. It makes me sob, rage, beg, curse, and scream.
For so long now, I’ve shown you how pedantically Ren protected me all my life. Revealed how he would do anything for me, in any circumstance, time, or place.
I’ve painted his picture over and over, showing you exactly what sort of man he was, and how his greatest quality was also his biggest flaw.
He was selfless and careful and kind.
And in this…he was no different.
He decided to carry the burden alone.
I hated him for that.
I cursed him every day for lying.
I never knew what he went through that night.
How John drove him straight to the hospital, signed with his insurance, and sat with Ren for hours, waiting for the tests.
All I knew at the time was Cassie received a phone call as we were on our way back from spending the afternoon with Chip and Nina, saying they’d gone into town for a beer and dinner.
It was a tad unusual, but John had treated Ren to a meal out—just the two of them— before, so I wasn’t overly concerned.
I wasn’t concerned when Ren came home later than normal and tossed his jeans into the wash straight away.
I wasn’t concerned when he ran more ‘errands’ with John a few days later, leaving Cassie and me sketching out stables and arena concepts for her horse business.
I wasn’t even concerned when the phone rang for Ren and he took it alone in the farmhouse, returning a little while later subdued and quiet but still willing to kiss and laugh when I poked him to liveliness.
All that time.
All those minutes and hours and days.
I didn’t know.
How
did
I
not
know?
How did I not see?
I loved him past sanity.
I loved him more than anything else in the world, so…how?
CHAPTER FIFTY
REN
* * * * * *
2021
I WAS SICK.
Sick of lying.
Of hiding.
Of holding Della late at night, listening to her soft breathing, all while fighting the terror that’d set up home inside me.
The lies I’d told the past few months.
Fuck.
The lies I’d told over and over again.
I wished I could take them all back.
I wished I could kill my mother for ever selling me to a place that had tried to kill me when I was young and didn’t succeed until I was older.
I’d run with Della, so full of hope and boldness for life. I’d protected her by any means necessary. I’d sacrificed everything for her. I’d given her my heart and soul.
Yet…I couldn’t protect her from this.
I’d believed I was just like any ten-year-old kid the day I’d escaped from hell.
I’d fallen in love and grown up and planned a future with the woman I wanted.