Page 89 of What Should Have Been Ours

Gabrielle

I swore I never wanted to be back in a hospital like this.

This is no longer about my feelings for this place, though. It’s about Cam; being here for him is all I want to do right now. I’ve taken the next week off just to be with Cam and get him settled in and as comfortable as possible.

It’s been days—days of waiting, of hoping, of trying to convince myself that maybe this time, the universe wouldn’t be so cruel; that some mistake was made. But today, the waiting ends. Reality is one test result away. And I’m not ready.

I’m not ready for the last hope of a miracle to be ripped away.

The doctor is standing at the foot of Cam’s bed with a clipboard in hand and an expression that makes my stomach twist with anticipation. She doesn’t want to have to say it. They never do.

And then she confirms it.

It’s back. Actually back. For real back, no more denying it back. No more hoping for a different outcome.

Relapsed Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

The words land like a punch to the gut, making it hard to catch my breath. I knew it was coming. Obviously, deep down, we all did. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. There was a little part of us all that held out hope for the results to come back differently.

I feel my pulse pounding, but I keep my face neutral, forcing myself to hold it together. Cam doesn’t need my fear right now. He needs my strength.

His fingers tighten around mine as he processes the news. His jaw clenches, his eyes flicker toward the ceiling, and for a moment, he just breathes. Then he nods, just once, like he’s making peace with something nobody should have to make peace with.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, his voice calm but laced with exhaustion.

The doctor runs through the treatment protocol—aggressive chemotherapy, hospital monitoring, and possibly a bone marrow transplant if the first line of options fail and they can find a match. He talks about remission rates, survival percentages, and side effects. Words I’ve heard before, words that are too clinical to ever capture the sheer weight of what they mean.

Cam listens, not saying anything, nodding at the right moments, absorbing it all. But I see it—the way his fingers twitch against the blanket, the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard.

He’s scared.

And so am I.

How many times can you play with these odds and them continue to be in your favor?

When the doctor finally leaves. The silence stretches between us. It all feels so suffocating. Wes and Kinsley are in the room too, sitting on the couch by the window. Wes hasn’t said a word since the doctor walked in, and Kinsley has her arms wrapped around her legs, her usual sharp remarks nowhere to be found. None of us knows what to say. You can’t make this better, so why even try?

Cam is the one who finally breaks the silence. His voice is quiet, and a little hesitant. “You don’t have to do this, Gab.”

“What?” I ask, blinking at him in confusion.

He turns his head toward me. “You don’t have to go through this again. You’ve already spent a lifetime in hospitals on your own. I know this is hard on you. You don’t have to stay…like…with me. Through this.”

My heart squeezes painfully. How can he even say that?

I shake my head, gripping his hand tighter. “Don’t be an idiot, Cam.”

“I’m serious.” He exhales sharply, turning to stare up at the ceiling. “I know what this is going to do to me. I know how bad it’s going to get. You know how bad it’s going to get. I don’t want you putting your whole life on hold.”

Anger flashes through me, annoyed he would ever think he’s a bother on my life. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re acting like I have a choice, like walking away is something I’d even be able to do.”

He closes his eyes. “Gab—”

“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. Not with this.” I take a shaky breath, fighting back the tears that are dangerously close to spilling over. “You were there for me every single second when I was sick. Even at your weakest, you showed up for me. You never left my side. And now, you expect me to just…walk away? Like I could ever do that.”

His eyes open again, the expression on his face raw and pained. “I don’t want you to hurt because of me.”

“I’m already hurting,” I whisper. “And that wouldn’t stop if I walked out of those doors. So let me be here.”