Page 169 of Halo

“She's so, so good ” I relax my hands, letting them rest against the edge of the pew in front of me. “Her smile alone makes everyone around her better. I have never experienced such kindness and generosity and love.” My lip trembles. “She’s all the proof I'll ever need that heaven exists.”

I blink back tears. “If something were to happen, I know she'd be okay.” My voice breaks. “But I wouldn't be. so, if you could, just watch over her. Because I need her.”

I need you, darlin’.

Come back to me.

As I sink back into my seat, the chapel door creaks behind me. A sliver of light slips inside, stretching across the crimson carpet. Assured footsteps follow, moving toward me with a familiar, unhurried gait. The old wooden pew groans and shifts as Jonathan sits beside me.

For a while, neither of us says anything.

“How’d you find me?” I ask.

A quiet laugh leaves him. “Word gets around when Nicholas Crawford walks into the chapel.”

I grin. “That unusual, huh?

“People were concerned the building might collapse.”

We share a soft lady as the quiet finds us again.

“I … didn’t know where else to go. In case you were wondering.” I rub the back of my neck. “Figured if there was ever a time for a last-ditch effort …”

Jonathan listens. He casually pushes up his glasses, unhurried and content to let the silence stretch between us.

I glance at my watch. “Do you know anything? Diwa called me when the procedure started, but that was almost forty minutes ago.”

Jonathan's hand finds my shoulder.

My head whips to find his doctor-to-patient face, the brave expression we mask when delivering bad news.

My stomach twists. “Jon—”

“She's still in surgery—”

“Is she alright?” I grab his forearm. “Please. Tell me she's alright.”

“When they opened her up, they found extensive adhesions.”

“How extensive?”

Jonathan hesitates. “Dense. Pelvic anatomy is distorted enough that they’re having trouble getting clean planes. They can’t reliably differentiate scar tissue from endometriosis or tumor grossly. They’re sending frozen sections.”

No, no, no.

I lean forward, pressing both hands against my head. “Any obvious mets?”

“Nothing they can call without pathology.” He lets out a heavy exhale. “Nick, there’s bowel involvement. They may need to resect.”

The last of my oxygen escapes my lungs as gravity shifts beneath me.

This might not be a contained recurrence of cancer anymore

We’re talking advanced disease.

My hand steadies against my friends arm as my ribs crack and splinter.

This isn't happening.