Page 114 of What Should Have Been Ours

And the pain. God, the pain.

It’s everywhere—burning under my skin, deep in my bones, like my entire body is inflamed from the inside out. My joints ache, my muscles tremble, my head pounds in a way that makes me want to scream, but I don’t even have the energy to do that.

I can barely keep my eyes open, yet every time I close them, the room spins. Every time I breathe, my chest aches like it’s caving in. Every time I try to shift, the nausea rolls through me all over again.

This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. But something about it feels worse than it ever did before. Something about today makes me want to quit. Throw out my white flag. Let it finally win. Let it finally take what it’s been so desperate for.

Gabrielle is here, just like she always is, and my mom had been sitting beside me for hours, but she finally stepped out, probably to get something to eat or take a second to breathe after watching her son wither away in a hospital bed for so long, not being able to fix any of it.

Gabrielle doesn’t leave, though. She never does. She hasn’t allowed herself to leave this room much at all since I was admitted back.

She’s curled up in the chair beside my bed, one hand wrapped around mine, her thumb brushing absently over my knuckles. She’s quiet, just watching me, like she can feel it—like she knows what’s running through my mind. And maybe she does. We’ve always had that kind of connection, and I can tell she’s already tuned into my thoughts because when I finally speak, my voice barely above a whisper, she squeezes my hand, knowing what I’m about to say.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” I whisper.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t react otherwise.

I swallow, staring up at the ceiling, blinking against the tears burning at the back of my eyes. “I don’t think I have anything left. My body just can’t…I really don’t know how much more it can take.”

She doesn’t let go of my hand. Doesn’t speak either.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to look at her, and my chest tightens at the sight of tears silently running down her cheeks.

I hate this.

I hate that I’m doing this to her.

I hate that no matter how much I love her, it might not be enough.

I close my eyes, shaking my head. “I just want to stop fighting.”

“No,” her voice is sharp, almost angry, leaving no room for argument.

I’m almost caught off guard and surprised by the fierceness in her tone.

She sits up a little straighter, leaning toward me. “You don’t get to say things like that, Cam. You don’t get to give up now.”

My throat tightens. “Gab—”

She shakes her head, her fingers tightening around mine. “I know you’re exhausted, and I know you’re scared, but you have to keep going. You have to.”

I look at her, searching her face, my chest aching in a way that has nothing to do with the cancer. “Why?”

She exhales, her lips pressing together for a second, trying to keep herself from crying more. Then, her voice gets softer. “Because there’s a whole life waiting for us on the other side of this, remember?”

I don’t answer, I just watch her.

She lifts my hand, pressing it against her chest, right over her heart. “I know you don’t feel like it right now. I know it feels like you’re drowning in all of this. But I need you to picture it, Cam.”

My brows furrow slightly. “Picture what?”

“Our life,” she whispers. “After all of this. When it’s over.” She takes a slow breath before continuing. “You waking up in our bed, the sunlight coming through the windows, my hair spread across your chest. We don’t have anywhere to be, no hospital visits, no tests, just us and endless possibilities for the day.” Her voice is soft, painting the picture, pulling me into it. “We get up and make breakfast together. You make the worst coffee ever, but you still try to get me to drink it. Then we still end up just making some hot chocolate instead,” she gives me a small laugh. “We spend the day outside—maybe in the city, maybe at the beach, just anywhere, breathing in the fresh air. Free from all of this.” She shifts closer, running her fingers down the side of my neck, her touch grounding my dark thoughts. “We have a home—a house way outside of the city that’s actually ours. Somewhere beautiful, with big windows and a backyard where we sit out at night, wrapped up in blankets, looking at the stars.”

I close my eyes, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

“And maybe, one day, we have kids.” She lets out a soft, breathy laugh. “Maybe a little boy that’s just as much trouble as you were. He would be so perfect. Or maybe we just have a bunch of dogs running around. Either way, we have a family. We have love. We have more time.”

I exhale shakily.