Page 121 of What Should Have Been Ours

Failed.

That one word slams into my chest like a wrecking ball.

No. No, that can’t be right.

I open my mouth, barely able to hear my own voice over the rush of blood in my ears. “No. No! There has to be something else. Another trial, another treatment, something—”

The doctor gives me a look that I hate. That awful, pitying look. The one I’ve seen before. The one I never wanted to see again.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any other options.”

No.

This isn’t how this ends. This is not how this ends.

“There has to be something else,” I whisper, my throat feeling raw, my entire body trembling. “Please.”

“How long?” Cam asks calmly.

Something breaks inside of me the second those words leave his mouth.

I want to put them back in.

I want to stop the clock.

I want to erase the last seventy-two seconds of my life and beg for an alternate reality.

But I can’t.

The doctor exhales, shifting slightly.

“Cameron…you have about six months to a year left—best case scenario.”

I swear the room caves in on me. The walls close in. My stomach twists so violently that I feel like I’m going to throw up.

I hear a sharp, shattered breath that startles me, and it takes me a second to realize it’s actually mine.

Six months to a year.

That’s not enough time. That’s not any time.

I can feel everyone around me reacting. Cam’s mom sucking in a sharp breath, his dad stiffening beside her. But Cam—Cam just sits there, numb.

Empty.

I see it written all over his face.

I shake my head harder. “That’s not—it can’t be—”

“Gab,” Cam says softly, his voice hoarse.

But I can’t stop.

I turn to the doctor, desperate, my voice breaking in a way I don’t even recognize. “There has to be something.”

His eyes are kind, but his words are ruthless. “The only thing we can do now is make sure you are comfortable. We can focus on palliative care, pain management, and any resources you’ll need.”

I make a sound, a strangled sob I can’t hold back.