Chapter Forty-One Sophie
Chapter Forty-One
Sophie
February
There's a woman staring back at me.
She's familiar. And yet... not.
She stands naked in her bedroom in front of the mirror.
There are scars across her chest; the pink, almost tender color of them shows they're still healing a bit.
Her natural breasts and nipples are gone, cut off her body, and in their place are expanders filled with saline.
Temporary placeholders until she can get the implants placed.
Her body has filled out again, for which she is very thankful.
The nausea has disappeared, and she's able to eat her favorite meals and clear her plate again.
Her eyes track down her form, remembering how her collarbones once protruded, her ribcage and hipbones pressed sharply against her skin, and the little pooch of her belly had vanished.
Not anymore—blessedly, her weight has climbed back up to what it was BC (Before Cancer), and that roundness of her body is back.
Her pale skin is flushed with a healthy glow, and she looks forward to trips to the beach this summer, lying in the sun under a deep layer of SPF, e-reader in her lap, and the waves peacefully lulling her.
There's no more bone-deep exhaustion, only some fogginess to her brain that seems to clear day by day.
While her hormones are still leveling themselves out after chemotherapy—like early menopause symptoms—her doctor had told her that these things would balance out in a couple of months and to give herself grace.
Sure. Tell that to her hot flashes, and the sobbing after dropping ice cream on the boardwalk.
.. and from that adorable cat commercial.
.. and from her boyfriend telling her she looked like the most beautiful girl in the world.
.. and from holding Plot in her arms and realizing that cats don't live forever. ..
The hair growing from her head again is fuzzy, barely an inch long, and dark brown. She can't seem to keep her hands from brushing against her head, her eyebrows, and the lashes that have reappeared. It's weird how these precisely placed hairs on your face can change your entire expression.
Her blue-green eyes are bright. Her smile is wide. She's strong. She's happy.
The woman in the mirror is me—Sophie-1000, as I've grown to calling myself after watching Terminator 2. Callum always shakes his head before pulling me in and kissing me deeply, like my ridiculousness is one of his favorite things about me.
This experience has changed me not only on the outside, but also on the inside. Not bad different, just... reinforced. Like someone switched my spine with steel.
I was never weak; I see that now, but somehow I feel stronger.
I think about who I was a year ago and what my life was like, and I realize I'm so much happier now. So much has changed—new friends, a new look, a new family, and, most importantly, a new partner. And these additions have only added to my life.
When I brought this up to Callum, he told me it's like I carved out the rot in my life—things I didn't need, I left behind, or they removed themselves, as Paul did—and made room for better things.
Better people.
Better love.
Even in the last couple of months since my double mastectomy, so many things have changed.
I've begun working again. Avery was so understanding about when I got sick and then the double mastectomy.
I took an extended Leave of Absence from work and returned part-time in mid-January, once my range of motion had improved.
Now I'm back to working full-time, still from home, and extremely thankful to keep this career.
I've also been handling the books at Rivers we already have an ice cream deal.
Though I have considered a future where I leave my job in Boston to work at the store with my favorite people.
Maybe one day...
Callum moved in with me at my apartment. I had brought it up to him during our logistics discussion before surgery, and I'd been nervous he would think it was weird or uncomfortable. He's stayed over before, but sleeping over a night or two is different from occupying the same space 24/7.
All that worry was for nothing. He had just shaken his head, kissed my forehead, and told me it didn't matter. "All that matters is right now, baby," he'd said firmly. "You and me, this life we're building."
Remember the past for the lessons and memories, but when you keep looking back, you're lost.
Tess and Maeve, despite being complete opposites in personality, had hit it off immediately. Tess's nonjudgmental nature—one of the many qualities I likely inherited from her—meant she never once blinked at Maeve's witchiness.
My sister listened respectfully, offered input when possible, and asked thoughtful questions.
It was funny to watch the two of them sit together at my dinner table, Tess in her US Army hoodie and sneakers, Maeve in her flowy dresses, discussing tarot or the most haunted places Tess has ever been on deployment.
My sister has even started helping out at the store on weekends, switching shifts with Callum so he could come home to stay with me, which meant I was never alone and never left to fend for myself.
She decided to move into the apartment above the store with Maeve, taking the spare bedroom.
I know Callum was relieved his mom wouldn't be alone, and his mom was happy Callum was getting out again.
He had only been on his own briefly before his dad passed away.
Living with Callum was easy—easier than anything I had ever experienced before in my life.
Especially since I was so needy—"Not needy, sweet girl," he would murmur, tilting my chin up so I had to look him in the eyes.
"Just in need of help. There's a difference.
"—after the surgery, where I had been relatively useless for weeks.
I felt like a baby for the longest time, needing assistance with nearly everything.
Things I'd never imagined needing help with.
Things that felt embarrassing until I saw the way he looked at me—with love and devotion and zero hesitation.
Donna has been an absolute dream, dropping off casseroles that are easy to heat for both of us and sometimes sitting with me to keep me company during my bed rest. Between Callum and Maeve, Donna and Rich, my book club friends, and Tess, I didn't have time to feel lonely through recovery.
A couple of days after my surgery, I was resting in my bedroom when Donna stopped by for a visit. She breezed in, a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and sparkly gift bags like a redheaded fairy godmother.
"Hi, honey," she said, walking over to kiss my head. "I brought goodies."
She set the bags next to my bed, settling into a chair as she unpacked everything with a flourish—bath bombs for when I was finally cleared for baths, scar cream and oil, aloe and a thick hydrating lotion for the radiation, two pairs of soft pajamas, fuzzy socks, a sheet mask bundle, a plush neck pillow, and—my immediate favorite—a back scratcher in the prettiest rose gold color.
The relief I felt just at the sight of the little thing was ridiculous. You really do take arm mobility for granted until you realize how impossible it is to reach your own back after having your chest carved open. I kept feeling bad about calling Callum just to scratch my back or shoulders.
I was hugging her in thanks—slowly and carefully, and actually more her hugging me—when Callum walked back in, holding a mug of coffee that he handed to Donna with a smile.
"Aw, thank you, Callum," Donna said, taking the mug from his hands and giving him a warm smile.
"You're welcome," he replied, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my forehead. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes, please."
"I brought broccoli cheddar soup," Donna proudly stated, smiling at both of us.
My eyes lit up at that, and Callum chuckled, brushing another kiss on my head.
"I'll go heat it up," Callum murmured, before disappearing out the door.
I peered at Donna, who sipped her coffee before settling back into her chair. When she caught me staring, she tilted her head. "What is that expression for?"
"Is it... weird for you?" I asked carefully.
"What?" she blinked, genuinely confused.
"I mean," I gestured vaguely toward the hallway where Callum had disappeared. "With Callum."
She sighed deeply, considering the question for a moment before she smiled.
"As a mother, all I've ever wanted for my children—for any child—is for them to be happy," Donna said plainly, sipping her coffee.
My heart warmed instantly at the thought of her considering me one of her children, as it always did.
Sometimes I still couldn't believe my luck, that she still wanted me around, this woman who was the first maternal presence I'd ever known.
Even after everything, she was still here, choosing to support me.
"You're happy with Callum. That's all that matters to me, honey."
Donna and Rich continued to come around throughout my recovery, checking on me, tidying my kitchen, folding laundry, and restocking my favorite snacks.
Those mastectomy shirts Donna had bought me all those months ago ended up being perfect, and I'll never forget the first moment Callum had to empty my drains the afternoon we came home.
The walk from the hospital to his truck, from his truck to my apartment, felt like a pilgrimage. By the time I was reclining on my bed, propped up by a million fluffy pillows set up by Donna, I was utterly wrung out and feeling like an elephant was sitting on my chest.
Patiently, my otter had gently guided me and held me like I was precious glass, keeping one arm on me the entire way in and taking most of my weight to help me settle.