Nothing in the world could make him agree to treatment.
It will be his downfall.
Our downfall.
I never thought hearts could break like this. But that’s exactly what’s happening, right now, in this moment. My heart is shattering—into so many tiny pieces that it will be impossible to ever put them back together again.
His face blurs before my eyes; I can no longer see the treatment room. A violent sob racks through me. My nose swells, and tears stream down my cheeks without stopping.
‘So you’re not going to change your mind, and certainly not for my sake.’
He snorts wearily. ‘No more than you will, right?’ he replies, squeezes past me, and leaves the room.
Chapter Forty
JADEN
A sleepless night lies behind me, the morning light slowly turning the sky gray. My eyelids are heavy, yet I force myself to look at the half-derelict house. Because every time I let my eyes close, there are images that frighten me.
Camee’s pale face. Her arms, as thin as a child’s.
Nyla’s tear-soaked eyes. The shrill sound of her voice, her blind stubbornness, the madness in her expression.
What if she’s right after all?
What if yesterday I only wanted to see the bright side?
What if it’s like it was back then with Camee?
With Camee and all the lies we told each other.
When I enter her room, she beams at me. I can see that she’s in pain, I can see that she doesn’t feel like laughing, and I can also see that she’s afraid. Still, I beam back at her.
‘Hey, Camee, you look good today.’ I step up to her bed.
‘Don’t I?’ She adjusts the colorful scarf on her head. ‘Can you take a few pictures of me? I want to apply for Canada’s Next Topmodel.’
Smiling, I kiss her forehead. She smells of medical soap; I block out the smell. ‘Sure, strike a pose.’
‘Maybe I should lose a bit of weight first,’ she says, her gaze fixed on her bony arms. ‘They’re pretty strict there, you know.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ Pretending to think it over, I tap my chin. ‘All right, diet first, then the photos.’
Giggling, she holds out her little finger to me. ‘Deal.’
‘Deal.’ I entwine my little finger with hers, afraid I might break it, it’s so thin, yet I’m still grinning.
Because I can’t help it. Because I don’t know what else to do, how I would cope with her illness if I allowed myself to admit how bad things really are for her.
And I’m not alone in that, because Camee, who is winking at me now, doesn’t know either.
Back then, it was easier to lie than to tell the truth. For months we didn’t talk about where she was and what was ahead of her, how she was really doing and what her illness meant for us.
We spent the time she had left pretending she wasn’t dying. Months slipped past us, unused and irretrievably lost.
I breathe heavily against the tightness in my chest, look up at the sky, see the first rays of sun appear over the horizon, the clouds turning purple.
I didn’t want to lie to myself anymore—but would knowing the truth change anything? Camee could have experienced every single item on her bucket list herself if she hadn’t gotten treatment. Maybe she wouldn’t have seen the garden in its full glory, but she would have worked there with a smile on her lips until she couldn’t anymore.
