Page 183 of Halo

My stomach drops.

I push the cracked door open and find her sitting on the edge of the tub, shirt pulled up, supplies scattered around her feet. Her hands are trembling as she struggles with the adhesive around her colostomy bag.

“Come on,” she whispers through her tears. “Please just stick.”

Then she sees me.

Her hands immediately cover her stomach.

“Nick, please.” Her face crumples. “Go away.”

“I can help.”

“No.” She turns away from me, wiping angrily at her cheeks. “Just go away, Nick. Please.”

“I don’t want to go away.”

“Well, I don’t want you to see me like this.”

I take another step into the bathroom. “See you like what?”

“Like this!” Her hand gestures helplessly toward her stomach before falling into her lap. “I’m supposed to be your hot girlfriend. I’m not supposed to be a cancer patient who shits in a bag and can’t even figure out how to put the stupid thing on by herself.”

“Okay. Whoa.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Her voice breaks. “This is awful. I hate this. I hate looking at myself, and I hate that I have to do this, and then I’m going to start chemo and probably lose my hair again, and I just…” She presses both hands over her face. “I feel like I’m losing myself all over again.”

I crouch in front of her.

“You’re right.”

Her hands slowly lower.

“This is awful. Cancer is awful. That bag sucks, chemo is going to suck, and if you lose your hair, you’re allowed to hate every fucking second of it.” I reach up and wipe a tear from her cheek. “But none of those things change what I see when I look at you.”

A wet laugh slips out of her.

“I’m serious. You have cancer. Cancer doesn’t get to have you.” I take her hand. “You’re here, and you’re fighting, and I’m right here fighting with you. So please, let me be here so you don’t have to feel so damn alone.”

“Why do you even want this?” Her voice breaks as she gestures toward herself. “I’m about to go through menopause before I’m even thirty. I can barely take care of myself. I can’t even change this stupid bag without crying, and I can’t…” She swallows hard. “I can’t give you children, Nick.”

“Stop.”

She looks at me.

“You’re wrong.” I take her trembling hands in mine. “You already gave me a child.”

Her brow furrows.

“You gave me Grady.”

“Nick—”

“They read your affidavit today.” My throat tightens just thinking about it. “Every word, darlin’. And because of you, he’s staying with me. You stood up for me when you couldn’t even be in that courtroom.”

Tears fill her eyes.

“Maybe we don’t get another kid. Maybe we grieve that together. But don’t ever tell me you haven’t given me a family.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “The best thing that ever happened to me calls me Dad, and you helped make damn sure he gets to keep doing it.”