But, please know, from here on out, I can’t lie to you.
I will give you happiness.
I will give you hope.
But I will also give you pain.
But you already know that.
You know what’s coming.
We all know time is never on our side.
This is your final warning.
Stop.
Close the book.
Move on.
But if you’re like me and understand that nothing perfect lasts forever, if you’re strong enough to accept what life ultimately gives, it taketh away, then thank you.
Thank you for being there beside me.
Thank you for not leaving me alone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
REN
* * * * * *
2022
“THE TESTS show your mesothelioma has spread.”
Any happy feelings I had from watching my son come into the world popped like a shitty balloon.
I balled my hands. “It’s not mine. It’s never been mine. I didn’t fucking want it in the first place.”
“Sorry. Bad phrasing.” Rick had the decency to look apologetic, his white lab coat bright on my over-stretched senses. “But it doesn’t change facts. The tumours have increased. You’re no longer stage one.”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
The entire time I’d been subjected to yet more tests, I’d refused to sit down, but now, I tumbled into a chair in front of Rick Mackenzie’s desk. He’d come in especially to oversee my results, seeking an answer to why I’d fallen unconscious in the pasture.
All I could remember was struggling to breathe.
And then…nothing.
“Did you hear me, Ren?” he asked gently.
I nodded, leaning forward and wedging my elbows on my knees. “Yes, I heard you.” My voice was barely audible, not prepared to accept such things.
How could a single day hold the highest of highs and lowest of lows?
After Della had given birth and Jacob had been cleaned, weighed, and returned, the hospital staff had ensured Della was comfortable, helped dress her in a clean gown, and wheeled her to maternity where she’d earned a much-needed rest.
I’d ignored the annoyingly persistent doctors about heading to oncology while Jacob underwent his own tests—seeing as he was premature. He was carefully checked, just to make sure he was in working order.
And thank God, everything functioned as it should.
He was a robust little thing.
Only once Jacob and Della were asleep, and wouldn’t know any better, did I take the lift to the level where permanent sickness slinked down the corridors and death slithered on the air, trawling the wards for its next victim.
I despised this place.
I despised it even more after coming from maternity where the flapping of cranes could still be heard from dropping off new-borns, bringing new life to every corner.
My chest ached as I coughed.
Rick’s forehead furrowed. “Cough up any blood lately?”
“No.” I sat taller, straightening my torso for a better breath. “Not since that first time. Think I’d just irritated my throat.”
Rick nodded, studying my file that had grown rather comprehensive. He slouched, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “As a doctor, I know these things happen and this was an inevitability, but as your friend, I can’t help feeling like I let you down.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“You were responding so well to Keytruda. We should’ve just kept you on it.”
“Yeah, but I’d gone stable.” I didn’t know why I was arguing or trying to make him feel better. I guessed I didn’t want him feeling as wretched about this as I did.
How the hell would I tell Della?
How would I admit that the past year—running full tilt into our future with houses and businesses and babies might be one of our last? I’d worked my damnedest to get things sorted. I’d arranged my funeral and paid for it behind Della’s back. I’d taken out life insurance on myself in Della’s name to cover the cost of our mortgage with enough left to send Jacob to school. The fine print had been exhausting with my diagnosis but as long as I lived seven years, they’d pay out. If I didn’t…I’d have to look at alternatives.
I’d covered my bases the best I could.
I’d crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s or whatever that saying was.
I had the worst parts of my death covered.
But just because we’d finally earned everything we wanted, and I’d protected Della as much as I could, it didn’t mean I was ready to fucking die.
We had so much to look forward to, yet I might be leaving her with a brand-new baby and a broken heart.
“Christ.” I clamped a hand over my mouth as a rush of horror filled me. My fingers dug into my cheeks as my heart slammed.
Rick looked up. “You okay?”
Dropping my hand, I groaned, “No, I’m not fucking okay. Della just had our child. How the hell can I leave her with that on her own?”
“You’re not dying straight away, Ren.”
My vision greyed as my heart turned arrhythmic. “How long?”
He shrugged. “There’s still plenty of time. You’re stage two. Yes, it sucks, but it’s better than stage four. We’ll put you back on Keytruda and supplement immunotherapy with a few sessions of chemo.”