26. Eric
— ? —
Eric
Three days.
Three days of waiting. Of watching machines and reading charts and pretending to understand medical terminology that means nothing except my mother might die.
Then, against everything, she stabilizes.
Dr. Reeves calls it “unexpected improvement.” The nurses whisper about miracles. I just sit by her bed and hold her hand and try not to think about how close we came.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Nora says on day four. She’s sitting up now, eating Jello, complaining about the hospital food. “I’m not dying today.”
“The doctors said-”
“The doctors say a lot of things. I say I’m not ready yet.” She sets down her spoon. “I have things to see first.”
“Like what?”
“Like your wedding. Like grandchildren. Like watching you finally admit you’re in love with that girl.”
“Mom.”
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. I have cancer, I can say whatever I want.” She reaches for my hand. “I’ve decided to try the treatment. The chemotherapy. Dr. Reeves says it might buy me more time.”
My throat closes. “You said you didn’t want to-”
“I changed my mind. I want to see what happens next.” Her eyes are bright. Clear. More alive than they’ve been in days. “I want to see the wedding, at least.”
She says it like a joke. But her eyes are serious.
“There’s no wedding,” I say carefully.
“Not yet. But there will be.” She squeezes my hand. “I saw how you looked at her in that hallway. I saw how she looked at you. That’s not fake anymore, sweetheart. That stopped being fake a long time ago.”
I don’t have words. For once in my life, I don’t have words.
***
Valentina
I’m in the hospital cafeteria when Eric finds me.
He looks different. Lighter. Like someone lifted a weight off his shoulders.
“She’s doing better,” he says.
“I heard.”
“She’s going to try the chemotherapy. She wants to… she wants to see what happens next.”
I stand up. Close the distance between us. “That’s amazing, Eric.”
“It is.” He’s looking at me strangely. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Can we go somewhere? I need air.”
We walk out to the hospital courtyard. It’s small, just a patch of grass with some benches, but after days of fluorescent lights and antiseptic smells, it feels like paradise.
Eric pulls me into his arms.
Not a kiss. Just holding. His face buried in my hair, his arms wrapped around me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright.
“Thank you,” he says into my neck. “For being here. For not leaving.”
“I told you I wouldn’t.”
“I know. But thank you anyway.”
We stand there for a long time. Just breathing. Just existing together.
When we finally pull apart, I look at his face and I see something I’ve been too afraid to name.
This doesn’t feel fake anymore.
It hasn’t for a while.
“Eric,” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“I think we need to talk. About what this is.”
He nods. His eyes are serious. Certain. “I know. Not here. Not now. But soon.”
“Soon,” I agree.
He takes my hand. We walk back inside together.
And for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like a threat.
It feels like a promise.
***
That night, I sit in my motel room staring at two things.
The email from Apex Marketing, confirming my new start date, which I pushed back a week. No questions asked, when I told them about a family emergency.
And the text from Eric: Dinner tomorrow. I’ll cook.
Two futures. Two paths. One built by me, for me, proof that I can survive without anyone. One built with him, for us, terrifying and uncertain and completely unknown.
I don’t have to choose between them.
I can have both.
I respond to the email: Confirmed. Thank you for understanding.
I respond to Eric: I’ll bring wine.
Then I put down my phone and stare at the water-stained ceiling of my terrible motel room.
Something has changed.
Something fundamental, something irreversible.
I want both.
The career and the man.
The independence and the partnership.
I want to build a life that’s mine, and I want him in it.
For the first time in a year, I fall asleep smiling.