Page 207 of Halo

Leah’s fingers squeeze mine as her watery eyes find mine.

Please.

It has to be gone.

Please let it be gone.

“Well, your scans look excellent. I’m not seeing any residual disease or evidence of metastatic disease. At this point—” a bright smile crawls across her face—“you have no evidence of disease.”

The room stops, like we're suspended in motion and afraid to exhale.

Leah stares at the doctor. “I-I’m sorry.” Her voice shakes. “What did you say?”

The doctor’s smile grows. “Your body responded to treatment, Leah. There are no signs of cancer in your body.”

“Really?” She chokes on a sob as her chest starts to heave. Her hand reaches out for me.

I'm already standing, waiting for her.

I pull her to my chest, her arms wrapping around my neck. I bury my face against hers, tears slipping between our cheeks.

“You did it, darlin’.” I kiss her temple. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth. “You did it “

She’s okay.

My girl is okay.

Leah pulls back just enough to look at me, tears dripping from her chin, and this beautiful, disbelieving laugh bubbles out of her.

“I don't have cancer.”

I cup her face between my hands.

“You don't have cancer.”

We walk out of the office hand in hand, neither of us saying much.

Everything feels different. Without the constant unknown looming over our shoulders, somehow the world feels brighter, smells sweeter.

Cancer will always be part of our story. There’s no undoing what it took from Leah, what it carved out of both of us. There will be more scans. More appointments. But today, cancer isn’t part of our life.

I open the passenger door of my truck and help her inside, but before I can step away, she catches the front of my shirt, pulling me close.

My mouth finds hers, and I kiss her slowly, my hand sliding behind her neck as she smiles against my lips. For a few seconds, we do nothing but breathe each other in.

After we break apart I round the truck and climb behind the wheel.

I stop.

A sparkly white gift bag sits on my seat.

Raising an eyebrow, I give Leah a knowing look. I take the present and climb into my seat. “And, uh, where the hell did this come from?”

She shrugs, but her giggle gives her away. “I wasn’t sure how today was going to go. So, well … just open it. It’s just a little something.”

I playfully narrow my eyes and peel back the tissue paper, pausing when a familiar cover comes into view.

Yes Day.