Frank hums. “That’s a no.”
“That’s awe need to talk about what comes next,” I correct.
He nods, unbothered. “There it is.”
Diane squeezes his arm, her smile still there but thinner now. “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means the treatment isn’t having the response we hoped for,” I say. “We can adjust, but …”
“But my body’s tired,” Frank finishes for me. “Yeah, I know.”
The room goes quiet.
Melissa steps closer, glancing at the chart, then back at Frank. “Are you more uncomfortable today?”
“More tired,” he says. “Different thing.”
“That matters,” she replies gently.
He smiles at her. “See? That’s why I like you.”
She gives a small smile back, but I catch the flicker of worry in her eyes. She’s seen this before. She’s seen the slow shift from fighting to acknowledging.
Frank looks at me again, more serious now. “You going to keep swinging, or are we nearing the quality-of-life speech?”
I don’t flinch. “We’re not there yet.”
“But we’re closer.”
“Yes.”
He nods. “Good. I appreciate honesty.”
Diane exhales slowly. “You always do.”
Frank glances at her, then back at me. “So, what’s the plan, Doc?”
“The plan is to keep monitoring closely,” I say. “We’ll reassess dosing. Possibly imaging sooner than scheduled.”
“And if that doesn’t change anything?”
I meet his gaze. “Then we talk.”
He studies my face for a long moment, then grins. “You’re doing that thing again.”
I frown. “What thing?”
“The caring-too-much thing,” he says. “It’s obvious.”
Diane laughs softly. “He noticed weeks ago.”
Melissa shifts uncomfortably. “Frank …”
“Oh, relax.” He waves her off. “I’m not accusing him of anything inappropriate. I’m saying he gives a damn.”
I cross my arms. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze your oncologist.”
“I absolutely do,” he replies. “I’m paying you.”
