I don’t know how this happens. All people keep saying is sometimes it does, but I want to knowwhy.
How can a heartbeat go from being so strong, so powerful, to just gone? I didn’t think it would hurt like this, but I haven’t taken a full breath since they couldn’t find that sound again.
Then, how can a healthy eighteen-year-old have cancer?
It isn’t fair.
They say the baby probably saved Ava’s life. Without doing the ultrasound, they wouldn’t have seen the tumor for months. They caught it early, they said words like ‘looks isolated to ovaries’, and ‘likely hasn’t spread’, but Marianne was still crying so hard when they found it.
She was terrified like me.
Today, they confirmed it all. I wanted to believe it was some nightmare, but we were all awake. It isn’t. It’s real. Ava is scheduled for a surgery, and now I know for sure there isn’t a baby anymore.
I can’t show the fear to Ava, though. She needs me to be the rock. But too close to the surface there are these vicious thoughts of what if . . . what if I lose her?
Ava closes her eyes and the tears that fall onto her face break another hole in my chest. She lets out another choked sob. “I . . . bought a first outfit because I didn’t want to think it was real. I sort of hoped when they looked again . . .”
She doesn’t finish, but I think I know what she means. I hoped too.
This is why I love Ava. She’s not even thinking about what is about to happen to her. She’s in love with the baby we lost, and her tender heart is her glowing feature.
My jaw clenches. I ache the same for a life we’ll never get to meet. We’re young, but it’s not like this loss is some relief. It cuts like a freaking knife, and I’m reeling from everything we had tossed at us today. But my fears at the moment are for her.
I feel sick.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper.
She nods. I hold her tighter against my side, wishing I could take it all away, wishing I could shoulder some of the aches and sorrows for her. Ava’s heart is too good to break this way. We’ll make it through, I’ve no doubt. Life without her would be . . . dreary.
Our plans will remain the same in most ways.
Doctors say it’ll be a quick surgery. They have high hopes there won’t be any lingering cells, but they’ll want to watch. The good news is there is an awesome cancer center in Seattle.
We’ll move to Washington when she’s feeling better. Ava will study architecture. I’ll play ball and major in business, then I’m going to marry her.
Those plans won’t change. I won’t accept anything else.
But there is a new loss we’ll take with us that we’ll never shake.
I don’t know how long we sit out in the car before she finally says she wants to go rest. I help her to her room. I kiss her, good and thorough, then wipe a few more tears from her cheeks. Once she’s nestled under her comforter, I slip out before her parents get home. They told us to go ahead of them after the appointment, and I don’t want to see anyone right now.
Before I leave her room, though, I write a simple note on her pink stationary like we always do.
“There's only us, There’s only this. Forget regret—or life is yours to miss.”
Never regretted a day with you, Tweets. Never will.
I love you.
This summer, Ava took a liking to the musicalRent. I think it’ll make her smile.
That’s all I want to see right now. Her smile.
Ava
I don’t knowwhy I’m nervous. We’ve been working for two weeks now, but after visiting Josh and Laura a few days ago, there has been a shift between us. More of the Ryder I used to know keeps slipping out of the scowly mask he tries to wear.
“Why are we doing this?” Drake hisses in my ear.
