Prologue
NYLA
Some walls we don’t build to protect ourselves, but to spare others from a fate that would break them piece by piece. We are convinced we’re doing the only right thing—until one day we realise that not even the highest wall can protect the person you love from pain.
For me, that day is today. It’s this moment, right now, when Jaden places his hand on my cheek, strokes my skin with his thumb, and looks at me in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
‘Day by day. Moment by moment. No more, but no less either. Remember?’ He moves closer to me. ‘Just us.’ His lips find mine, tender, questioning, hopeful. ‘Just now.’
Just here.
Just us.
Just now.
I see the desperation with which he longs for it, and I, too, want to be with him in that way. Weightless, so lost in the moment that nothing else matters. Without fear, without worries, without a future, without questions.
There is nothing I want more. Still, it’s wrong, and we both know it.
‘It would just be an escape.’ I wrap my arms around him. ‘But we can’t run away from this. It will catch up with us.’ And when that day comes, it will drag us down into the abyss with it.
He kisses me as if he were a drowning man grasping for the only thing that can save him. Then he pulls back just far enough to look at me. The tips of our noses touch, and in his eyes I can see how hard he is fighting with himself.
‘Come on, let’s run away together. We’ll go see the world, save sea turtles, climb Vesuvius, cuddle with koalas.’ There is so much longing in his gaze, and I understand what is driving him.
Still, it’s wrong. ‘I can’t be happy with you when I know that this happiness could be an illusion.’ Like a shimmering soap bubble that might burst.
For a while we look at each other and I begin to hope. But then he takes a step back, his hand sliding from my cheek.
And I know that I’m going to lose him.
Chapter One
NYLA
Two weeks earlier
The probability of getting cancer twice in one’s life, depending on lifestyle, genetics, and bad luck, is between twenty and fifty percent.
The risk of dying from this second illness is thirty to fifty percent. For someone who has already been sick once, that means a lifelong risk of death of about six to twenty-five percent, even if they are currently healthy.
Twenty-five percent.
The number pulses through my head in time with the background music coming from the speakers as I watch the busy hustle and bustle in the mirror that covers the entire wall of the hair salon.
The woman next to me is probably about my age. She has a long blond mane, delicate features, bright red fingernails, and an easy, carefree laugh. If she has never been seriously ill before, her risk of dying is one percent.
The hairdresser who is currently highlighting her hair has a higher risk because of the chemical substances he is exposed toin his job. However, his toned body and radiant skin suggest that he leads a healthy life, which shifts the probabilities once again.
One percent, I decide for the hairdresser as well, smiling wistfully, and let my gaze wander on. In the mirror I see Lucy coming toward me. With a broad smile on her face, she positions herself behind my chair, our eyes meet.
‘Hey, how’s your mom?’ I ask.
Lost in thought, she loosens the towel that is wrapped around my head like a turban. ‘The doctors are optimistic.’
Oh, thank God. ‘That’s wonderful.’
She brushes my short strands, then pauses and looks at me in the mirror. ‘If you hadn’t pushed her to get checked out…’ Her hand finds my shoulder. ‘I don’t know how to thank you for that.’
