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Chapter Thirty
Finley
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My eyes flutter openand I look around the room. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and why. Heaviness settles down over my chest the instant I do.
I turn my head to find Abel in the chair next to me, his head tilted back slightly as he sleeps. I take a minute to look at him. The scruff on his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the tiny dip in his chin. He really is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. My heart hurts just by looking at him.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I spent the first three days feeling numb and the last two crying at that drop of a hat.
We’ve found out so much over that time. Things I still don’t think I’ve fully processed.
First it started with the news the cancer had spread and it only spiraled further out of control from there. Learning that you have a brain tumor you may not survive is one thing because there’s a chance. Receiving a terminal diagnosis and having the doctors tell you there’s nothing more they can do is quite another.
I thought I had gotten a second chance at life when I survived the surgery. Now I’m finding out we only delayed the inevitable.
Three months. That’s how long they’ve given me. Six to twelve with chemo, and that’s if I’m lucky. I’ve spent the last two days weighing every option that’s been given to me and yesterday, I finally made the decision. While Claire was at work and Abel had run home to shower and grab a bite to eat, I informed the doctor of my choice.
Neither of them know yet. They don’t know that I’ve refused chemo. That I’ve chosen quality of life over quantity. I’m not sure either of them will agree with me, but at the end of the day it’s my choice to make. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it on my terms.
“Hey.” Abel’s groggy voice fills the air as his eyes flutter open to find me watching him.
“Hey.” I smile, emotion so thick in my throat it’s a wonder I’m even able to speak.
“How are you feeling?” He stretches, turning his head from side to side as he pushes himself completely upright.
“I’m okay.” I reach for his hand which he immediately gives me, scooting closer to the bed as he does.
“Has the doctor come in yet?” he asks, checking his watch for the time.
“No, but the nurse was in earlier this morning and said he should be in before lunch to release me.”
“They’re releasing you?” He sits up straighter.
“There’s nothing they can do for me that they haven’t already done.”
“What about treatments? When do you start them?”
I take a deep breath, realizing this is something I can’t keep from him.
“I’m not having treatment.” I push past the lump in my throat.
“What do you mean you’re not having treatment?” His brows draw together in confusion.
“I’m not going to do the chemo.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to spend what little time I have left sick and weak.”
“But what if it works? It could work. You won’t know unless you try.”
“Abel, you heard the doctors. Chemo might buy me a few months, but it’s not a cure. I’m dying, whether I get treatment or not.”
“No.” He pushes to a stand, dropping my hand as he does. “No.” He runs his hands through his hair, letting out a loud breath through his nose as he paces the room.
“Abel.”
