I felt anger and sadness surge inside me all at once. «So you… you did this without his knowledge?»
«Yes,» she admitted, her voice full of regret. «I saw how afraid he was to tell you and put a temporary tattoo on him, disguising it as disinfecting an injection site. He wanted you to know, but he couldn’t say the words. I thought… maybe this way, you’d discover it on your own.»
I covered my mouth, stifling a sob as I tried to process everything. The room spun, and I felt a hollow ache inside me, an ache that was both loss and love.
I stood there, holding my phone in one hand, feeling like I’d been hit by a tidal wave. My heart pounded as Dr. Evans’ words echoed in my mind.
For a moment, anger bubbled up. Why hadn’t he told me? Didn’t he trust me? But the anger faded, replaced by a hollow ache. I knew he thought he was protecting me and our unborn child. But how could he believe I’d want this? To carry on, oblivious, thinking we had a future when he knew we didn’t?
The next morning, I woke early, watching the dawn light spread across the room. Daniel lay beside me, looking peaceful in sleep. I felt a pang, knowing that each morning we had left was a gift. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, gently rousing him.
«Hey,» he mumbled, half-awake, blinking at me in surprise. «You’re up early.»
«I was thinking,» I said, smiling, «how about we take a weekend away? Just you and me. We deserve it.»
He looked at me, a little taken aback. «A getaway? Now? Are you sure? I mean, with everything going on…»
«Yes, now,» I interrupted, my voice steady. «We need this. We both do.»
That weekend, we drove out to a small lake cabin we’d once visited years ago, early in our marriage. The cabin was just as we remembered it, cozy and welcoming, surrounded by tall pines.
We spent hours walking by the water, our hands entwined, talking about anything and everything. At night, we lay under the stars, watching them blink in the clear sky, his arm wrapped around me, and for a little while, it was like everything was perfect.
A few days after we returned, I suggested we finally paint the nursery. «I’ve been meaning to,» he said with a shy smile, «But I thought we still had time.» His words stung, but I brushed it off and handed him a paintbrush.
Together, we painted the walls a soft blue, laughing as we left handprints on each other’s faces and ended up sitting on the floor, paint-splattered and tired. When we finished, he stood back, looking at the freshly painted walls and the tiny crib by the window.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tightly I could feel his heartbeat. His shoulders shook, and he buried his face in my hair. I held him, feeling his silent tears, each one breaking my heart a little more.
His health was slipping. One morning, he could barely lift his head from the pillow. I sat beside him, holding his hand, brushing back his hair as he struggled to open his eyes.
«I’m so sorry,» he whispered, his voice hoarse, his hand weakly squeezing mine. «I wanted to… be here… longer.»..
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