Chapter 45
JIYA
Two days later, Dr. Mitchell called again and asked us to come in.
As soon as we stepped into his office, the look on his face made my stomach roll instantly.
A cold, sinking feeling spread through me as dread gripped my chest. I could not even begin to imagine what the results might be, but something about the way he avoided our eyes told me it was not going to be good.
It felt like my entire world was already starting to crack.
“I’m afraid the news is not better than the last time,” he said. “We got the results of the biopsy.”
I squeezed Cole’s hand and licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. Dear God, please let it not be bad news.
“It’s stage four liver cancer, and it has spread to other parts of the body.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My heart started racing uncontrollably, my pulse thundering in my ears. The room seemed to tilt around me as the strength drained from my body. My muscles went limp, and my hands began to tremble in his.
This couldn’t be real.
This couldn’t be happening.
“What does this mean?” I asked, my voice breaking despite my effort to stay composed. “What can we do to treat this?”
“Chemotherapy will not work at this point,” the doctor said, lowering his eyes briefly before looking back at us.
The finality in his voice shattered me completely.
Before I could even process it, Cole spoke.
“How much time do I have?”
I whipped my head toward him as the question cut straight to the core of me.
Time? How could he ask that so calmly? How could he already be thinking like that when I was still trying to breathe through the shock?
A wave of fear crashed over me.
This was no longer something we could fight our way out of easily.
This was real.
And it was taking him away from me.
“I’m sorry to say this,” Dr. Mitchell paused, his voice heavy. “Between four to six months… if you’re lucky.”
The words hollowed me out from the inside.
I turned to look at Cole.
He swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening.
“We could try radiation and immunotherapy—” the doctor started.
“But that won’t cure it. It will just delay the inevitable,” Cole said, cutting him off.
I flinched slightly at the certainty in his voice.
“That’s correct,” the doctor confirmed.
Cole lowered his gaze for a moment before lifting it again and turning to me. “I’d like to spend whatever time I have left with my family.”
My chest constricted so tightly that I could barely breathe.
Whatever time I have left… The words echoed in my mind as if they didn’t belong to our life, as if they had been spoken about someone else.
I drove us home in silence. I don’t remember much of the road or the turns we took.
My hands gripped the steering wheel, my eyes fixed ahead, but my thoughts were unravelling like threads pulled from a seam.
After a while, I forced myself to speak. “Why don’t you want to try the treatment options that he suggested?” I asked.
Cole turned to look at me. “Because the survival rate with those treatments is only four percent. I—”
“Four percent is still a possibility,” I interrupted quickly, my voice barely holding it together.
I couldn’t break.
Not now.
I needed to be strong for him.
But underneath that strength, I was upset.
I was angry.
Angry at the situation.
Angry at him.
Angry at the fact that he was already giving up.
“It’s not a possibility I want to live with,” he said firmly. “Stop the car here.”
I blinked, startled, but pulled over as he asked.
We had stopped beside a park.
The normalcy of it felt almost cruel.
“Come with me,” he said.
I followed him out of the car without a word.
We walked across the grass together, the air still around us.
In the distance, there was a small garden surrounded by swings, slides, and painted play horses.
It looked peaceful, almost untouched by the kind of pain that was tearing through me.
He reached for my hand as we walked, and I let him hold it.
When we found a bench, we sat down side by side.
“I’ve researched this for the past couple of days, and there’s no way I can survive this, Jiya.”
I stared at him, my chest tightening.
“I still want to be in my right mind,” he continued, his eyes fixed on the trees swaying gently in the wind, “and not suffer during the last stages of my life.”
Tears pressed at the back of my eyes.
“But don’t you want to at least give it a try?” I pleaded, my voice breaking as the first tear slipped down my cheek.
Doing something—anything—felt better than doing nothing at all.
If there was even the smallest chance to keep him here longer, I wanted it.
I needed it.
I couldn’t believe that over the past few days, he had already thought it through to this extent.
I had been researching too.
I knew what he was saying was true.
But that knowledge didn’t make it easier to accept.
I had never given up on anything in my life… no matter how hard things got.
I fought until the very end.
And I wanted him to fight too.
“No, I don’t,” he said, his reply quick and sharp.
The tone cut through me.
“This is my life, and I want to decide how to live the rest of it.”
I lowered my gaze, staring at my hands in my lap.
His words hurt.
Not because he was wrong.
But because I wasn’t ready to let him go.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly after a moment, his fingers gently lifting my chin so I would look at him. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
My vision blurred again as I met his eyes.
“I’m trying to deal with this the best way I know how to,” he added.
A sob escaped me before I could stop it. I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close.
I could feel the steadiness in his embrace, even now, even when everything was falling apart.
This wasn’t my choice.
I wasn’t the one going through it.
I couldn’t feel what he was feeling.
This wasn’t about me.
It was about him.
About what was best for him.
About the choices he had left.
And no matter how much it hurt, I couldn’t take that away from him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered finally, my voice trembling.
“I’m sorry too,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against my temple. “I’m sorry too.”