Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ELIZABETH
Sixteen years later
Forever is a Lie
AML. Three letters of the alphabet, not even a word.
Philadelphia is a word. It’s a city in Pennsylvania.
Birthplace of American democracy. Home to the Liberty Bell.
The town where our nation’s Founding Fathers drafted both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.
But tack on the word positive to Philadelphia and you get something horrific.
My vocabulary for the past couple of days has become words and acronyms that I never would have thought I’d use when talking about my husband. Acronyms such as AML and BCR-ABL, or words such as allogeneic donor, bone marrow graft, and ablative chemotherapy.
But the words I abhor the most? Acute myelogenous leukemia.
Cancer of the blood and bone marrow caught too late, our treatment options limited.
The man I love more than life itself—the boy who stole my heart when I was only nine years old—is now a statistic. A horrifying, ugly, soul-crushing statistic.
The Fates have thrown me an ironic nightmare.
Oncology is what I specialized in at medical school.
Cancer research is what I have devoted my life’s work to.
And now? The one thing I am supposed to be an expert in is the one thing I have no control over.
I can’t cure Ryder’s cancer. I can’t take it away.
All those years of medical school, all the blood, sweat, and tears I shed—it was all for nothing.
If I had one wish, I would wish that life were words written in pencil on a piece of paper.
Then, I could erase life’s mistakes and rewrite our stories.
Eventually, however, the eraser at the end of the pencil would be used up, rubbed down until only the metal casing scraped the surface of the paper, and life could no longer be altered and recrafted.
The Keurig sputters and clicks off. The sound is abnormally loud in the dark quietude of the kitchen, like the echo of a final heartbeat.
I stayed up all night, holding Ryder close, watching each steady rise and fall of his chest until desolation wrapped its cold fingers around my throat, and I fled our bed, not wanting to wake him when I fell apart.
After throwing up a few times in the hall bathroom, I wandered the house like a ghost’s lost soul for who knows how long until I eventually stumbled into the kitchen.
Through the large window that faces the backyard, a faint line of gold edges where sky meets the curvature of earth, spilling light through the trees and signaling a new day is about to begin.
With trembling hands, I take my coffee with me, but I only get within feet of the patio door before my legs refuse to go any farther.
The thought of watching the sunrise alone, something Ryder and I do together every morning, punches a hole in my chest and rips out my barely beating heart.
We were supposed to have a lifetime of sunrises and quiet mornings to share.
In my mind, I see it all—our children growing up, getting married, starting their own families—and for every new, precious memory made, Ryder and I would share it with them together.
The pain of what should have been but will never be—I can’t breathe. How can I breathe again without him?
As quickly as the devastation comes, so does the rage, white-hot and lacerating.
I’m so fucking mad. At him. At myself. At the entire goddamn world.
I knew something was wrong. I saw the signs—the exhaustion and weight loss, always getting sick.
But Ryder would brush it off, saying he was “fine” or “just overworked and needed a vacation.”
I failed the man I love, just like I failed my sister.
Clutching my coffee, the scalding hot mug burns my palms, the singe of pain inconsequential compared to the agony of my soul as it weeps for my husband and the forever that is being stolen from us.
“Liz.”
I blink several times, my surroundings gradually coming into focus, and see Julien standing in front of me. When did he get here?
Confused, I look around the kitchen. Bowls are left out on the counter island, and the kids’ backpacks are not where they left them last night after doing their homework while I cooked dinner.
Did I remember to pack the kids’ lunches this morning before they left?
I glance down at my hands, at the still full cup between them. The coffee is cold.
“I let myself in,” Julien says, watching me with concern as I just stare at him blankly.
Ryder and I told him and Elijah what was going on. They’ve been helping with the kids this week and picking Charlotte up from school since Christopher stays late for football practice.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s half past nine,” he says, slowly approaching me, as if I’ll fracture apart right in front of him.
I glance at the entryway. Ryder still must be asleep.
He took the week off and left Knox in charge of the garage.
I have so much to do. Call the specialists.
Set up appointments. And the kids. We haven’t told them anything.
We wanted to wait for the bone marrow biopsy results to come back in case it was a false alarm.
Oh god. How in the hell do we tell them?
Charlotte and Christopher are still too young.
They won’t understand. And Marcus…he just got his driver’s license.
He and Ryder have been working on the car we bought him, fixing it up so he could race it at the Fields, just like Randy did with Ryder when he was that age.
Julien gently touches his forehead to mine. “I’m going to make you some toast, yeah?”
I nod numbly, not hungry but knowing I need to eat something.
His warm arms wrap around me, and I startle at the unexpected touch. Julien’s face is almost unrecognizable through the tears spilling from my eyes.
“He’ll get through this. He’s a fighter. Everything will turn out fine. You’ll see.”