Chapter 24
Thank God I had a bathroom in my office.
As my pregnancy progressed, so did the nausea, becoming an unwelcome part of my daily routine.
I hated vomiting with a passion, but there I was, hunched over the toilet for what felt like the third time today.
I rinsed my mouth, trying to shake off the lingering queasiness, and stepped back into my office, only to find Vaughn sitting on the couch, waiting for me.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice edged with irritation as I tried to mask the exhaustion in my tone.
“Something’s off with Colson,” Vaughn said, his expression serious.
I frowned, sinking into my chair. “What do you mean?” A knot of worry began to tighten in my chest.
“He doesn’t look good,” Vaughn replied, his concern genuine, not the usual irritation I expected when he talked about his father.
“He’s been working nonstop on the Harris Banking merger,” I reasoned, hoping to convince myself as much as Vaughn. “Late nights, little sleep. You know how he is.”
Vaughn ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I’ve seen my father run on two hours of sleep and still command the boardroom like he had a full night. This is different.”
I sighed, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “He’s slowing down, Vaughn. He won’t be high-energy forever.”
“I want him to see his physician,” Vaughn insisted, his voice firm. “He won’t listen to me, but he might if you ask him.”
My stomach twisted with anxiety. Colson couldn’t be sick—not with a baby on the way and our future unfolding before us. “I’ll speak with him,” I promised, though my voice barely rose above a whisper.
Vaughn leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he pressed. “Now.”
“What’s the urgency?” I asked, feeling a cold dread creep up my spine.
“Because I was talking to him earlier, and he started nodding off in the middle of the conversation. He never does that, Joey. Something’s wrong.”
Panic started to claw at me as I stood, smoothing my skirt to disguise the tremor in my hands. “I’ll go see him,” I said, heading for the door. Vaughn followed closely behind.
“Do you think we should confront him together?” I asked, pausing just outside Colson’s office.
“I can wait outside,” Vaughn suggested, understanding the delicate situation. “He’s not a fan of being ganged up on.”
I nodded. “That would be best. You know how he gets.”
Despite the tension, Vaughn chuckled softly, a brief, shared acknowledgment of Colson’s stubbornness. His assistant nodded as I placed my hand on the door handle, pushing it open.
What I saw stopped my heart. Colson was sprawled on the floor, face down and motionless.
The scream stuck in my throat as Vaughn shoved past me, dropping to his knees beside his father. He turned Colson over, shaking him gently.
“Dad?” Vaughn’s voice cracked. “Call 911,” he barked, his tone sharp and urgent.
Everything blurred after that. My legs gave out, and I clutched the wall, barely able to keep myself from collapsing. The room spun as fear consumed me. My world was crashing down, and all I could do was cling to the hope that Colson would open his eyes.
The hospital waiting room was cold, the fluorescent lights too harsh, casting everything in an unforgiving glare.
I sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles had gone white.
The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mixing with the pungent odor of fear that seemed to seep from my pores.
Colson was somewhere behind those double doors, surrounded by doctors and machines, and I was powerless to do anything but wait.
I couldn’t stop shaking. Every nerve in my body was frayed, and the clock on the wall seemed to mock me with each relentless tick.
How had it come to this? I replayed the events in my mind over and over, the way Vaughn had barged into my office, his concern clear as day, the way we’d found Colson sprawled on the floor, so lifeless and vulnerable.
“He’s strong,” I whispered to myself, trying to fill the silence with words of comfort, though they felt hollow. “He’ll be okay. He has to be.”
But my voice cracked, betraying the terror that was gnawing at my insides. The man I loved—God, I loved him more than I ever realized—was in that room, and there was nothing I could do but wait.
I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the warmth of my tears before I realized I was crying.
The memories of how we got here—how he had charmed me, pursued me, convinced me to marry him—rushed to the forefront of my mind.
He had hidden so much from me, had manipulated the situation to suit his needs.
He’d made me fall for him under false pretenses, and yet, despite all of it, I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
How deep does love run when it’s tangled up in lies? I wondered, my thoughts spinning out of control.
A nurse in scrubs walked past me, and I shot up from my seat, my breath catching in my throat. “Please,” I begged, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Can you tell me anything? How is he?”
She paused, her expression gentle but guarded. “The doctor will be out to speak with you soon, Mrs. Ashworth. We’re still running tests.”
I nodded numbly, sinking back into my chair as she walked away.
The seconds dragged on like hours, each one pulling me further into a spiral of fear and doubt.
My mind raced with questions I couldn’t answer.
What if I lost him? What if all the secrets he’d kept, all the lies, meant nothing in the end because he wasn’t here to answer for them?
The sound of the doors swinging open snapped me out of my thoughts. A doctor in a white coat approached, his expression unreadable. I stood, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear him when he spoke.
“Mrs. Ashworth?”
“Yes,” I choked out, stepping forward. “How is he? What’s wrong with him?”
He glanced at the chart in his hands before meeting my gaze. “Your husband has experienced a significant drop in blood pressure, likely due to severe exhaustion and stress. We’re running a few more tests to rule out any underlying conditions, but for now, he’s stable.”
“Stable?” I echoed, the word both a relief and a new source of anxiety. “But what does that mean? Is he going to be okay?”
The doctor offered a small, reassuring smile. “He’ll need rest, and we’ll keep him under observation for a while. But with proper care, he should recover.”
The weight on my chest lifted just slightly, but the knot of tension in my stomach remained. “Can I see him?” I asked, desperate to be by his side.
“Of course. He’s resting now, but you can go in.”
I nodded, following the doctor down the sterile hallway.
My thoughts were a jumble of relief and fear.
I loved him—God, I loved him so much. But there were secrets between us, dark shadows that hung over our marriage.
I didn’t know how we’d confront them, but as I entered the room and saw him lying there, pale but alive, I knew one thing for sure.
I wasn’t ready to lose him. Not now. Not ever. No matter what the future held, I would fight for him, for us. And when he woke, we’d have to face those secrets together.
Tears blurred my vision as I struggled to comprehend the doctor’s words.
Colson had always been a force of nature, someone I believed was invincible.
But now, with his life hanging in the balance, I felt utterly helpless.
How could I have been so blind? Had I been so wrapped up in my pregnancy that I’d missed the signs—the weight loss, the fatigue, the way he seemed to be slipping away right before my eyes?
The doctor placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, his expression full of pity. “Mr. Ashworth needs treatment. Please, talk to him.”
I nodded numbly as he walked away, leaving me alone with the man I loved more than anything.
Colson lay in the hospital bed, his face pale against the white sheets, his body so still it terrified me.
The diagnosis—stage four pancreatic cancer - echoed in my mind like a death sentence.
It had spread to other organs, leaving little hope.
What I had dismissed as simple exhaustion was something far worse.
He was dying, and our baby might never know its father.
I wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling as I reached for his hand, desperate for any connection. His hand, usually cool, was warm for once, a small comfort in the midst of this nightmare. As if sensing my touch, his eyes fluttered open, the familiar blue now clouded with pain.
“Joey,” he whispered, his voice so weak it broke my heart.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to stay calm. “How long, Colson?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it steady.
He looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
The realization hit me hard, knocking the wind out of me. “But you did tell me,” I said, piecing it together. “All the talk of the future, the mention of time being short—you were trying to tell me you were sick.”
His sigh was heavy, filled with a weariness I hadn’t noticed before. For the first time, Colson seemed small, vulnerable. “I’ve known for a few weeks.”
My breath caught in my throat. “And treatment? Have you been getting treatment since you’ve known?” I demanded, my voice rising with panic.
“Sweetheart…”
“Tell me the truth, Colson!” I cut him off, my fear and anger boiling over. “Is the man with so many secrets keeping one more? God, Colson, we’re having a baby. I can’t do this alone.”
He finally turned to look at me, his eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. “I didn’t want to burden you, Joey. You’re carrying our child… I couldn’t add this to your worries.”
My heart ached at his words, but they did nothing to soothe the rage bubbling beneath the surface. “This isn’t just about you!” I cried, gripping his hand tighter. “We’re in this together, remember? How could you keep something like this from me?”
Colson closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Well, you failed,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m terrified, Colson. Terrified of losing you. You should’ve let me in...”
He opened his eyes again, and the raw vulnerability in his gaze nearly undid me. “I’m so sorry, Joey,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his, our tears mingling as I tried to hold on to the man I loved. “We’ll fight this,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “We’ll fight this with everything we have.”
But even as I said the words, a part of me knew the truth. Colson had been fighting this battle alone for weeks, and now, as the reality of his illness loomed over us, I couldn’t shake the terrifying thought that it might already be too late.
The End