Thirty-one
Ethan
The car idles at a red light, and I steal a glance at the amazing woman beside me. Her eyes are closed, her head resting against the window.
From this angle, she appears at peace, a mother worn out by the day’s demands.
But I know better. Beneath that fragile peace, my Sunshine is suffering in ways I can neither truly comprehend nor erase; the pain is her constant companion.
I wish I could take it all away. Just for a moment, to give her a single breath of relief.
I wish I could carry it for her. I wish I could trade places with her.
The jarring blare of a horn yanks me back to the present. I lift a hand, a quick, almost apologetic flick in the rearview mirror to the impatient driver.
Fifteen minutes later, the house looms into view. I hit the garage opener, the door groaning its way up, then nudge the car inside and kill the engine. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I let out a steady breath.
I roll my head to the side, my gaze falling on Lily again. She is still asleep, slumped awkwardly, her head lolling against the window. I really don’t want to wake her, not when sleep offers a moment’s reprieve from what’s about to happen when she wakes up. But I have to get her inside.
Rounding the car, I reach for Lily’s side and pull open the door. I cup the back of her head, guiding it gently so it won’t bump the frame.
“Hey, Sunshine. We’re home,” I whisper softly.
She emits a faint, breathy groan, a sound of pure exhaustion, and her eyelids flutter before they settle shut again.
Chemotherapy always hits her hard. I lean in, wrapping my arms carefully around her frail frame, one hand supporting her back, the other under her knees, and lift her against my chest. Her arms loop around my neck, and her head finds its familiar resting place just beneath my chin.
I hold her close, feeling the beat of her heart against me. With my hip, I nudge the car door shut.
A soft click echoes as the inner garage door opens, revealing Sam in the doorway. “Hey,” she whispers, her gaze instantly drawn to Lily. “How did it go today?”
“Good,” I reply.
Sam steps aside, her gaze lingering on Lily for a beat longer than usual, a flicker of pain in her eyes.
“I’m going to get her settled on the bed. Can you keep an eye out for the kids?” I ask, entering the kitchen.
“Of course, Ethan. That’s why I’m here,” she says, offering a small, sad smile. Her eyes glisten as she watches Lily, so small and pale, nestled against me.
Without another word, I navigate up the steps and push open the door to her bedroom, and the lavender scent invades my nostrils as always.
I gently lower her onto the bed, her body molding to the mattress, and remove her shoes.
I reach for her favorite purple soft throw and drape it over her.
Her eyes remain closed, her breathing shallow and even.
Moving toward the window, I draw the shades, ensuring no sliver of the bright afternoon sun will bother her.
Lily has said the sunlight right after treatment feels like a physical assault.
Walking back to the door, I click it shut for privacy. Glancing over to the bed, I wonder what she would think if I crawled in with her. To hold her. To feel her warmth against mine.
But the last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable, or worse, kick me out of her house.
Instead, I make my way to the armchair and kick off my shoes.
Leaning back, I stretch my legs out, sighing as my arms settle on the armrests.
Through it all, my gaze remains fixed on Lily, watching over her as she sleeps, unwilling to let her out of my sight for even a moment.
The buzz of my phone vibrating in my pocket pulls my gaze away from her.
Marcus: How’s our Lily bear?
Me: She’s out cold. Chemo really kicked her ass today.
Marcus: I’m sorry to hear. How are you holding up, man?
Me: Honestly? Like I’m dying a slow death myself.
Marcus: I can only imagine. But keep being there for her. You got this, brother. I’m here to talk whenever you need it.
Me: Thanks, man. Means a lot.
Marcus: Give our love to Lily when she wakes up.
Me: Will do.
“Oh,” Lily groans, clutching at her stomach. “Pain.” Her voice is a thin whisper.
“Sunshine?”
She opens her eyes, and they’re swimming with tears. I watch, hopeless, as the first few escape and track paths down her pale, sweat-slicked cheeks.
“What can I do?” I lament.
“Bathroom,” she manages to get out.
Without a second thought, I scoop her into my arms. She’s so light, and I do my best not to jostle her, praying I don’t make it worse.
With hurried, careful steps, I carry her to the bathroom.
The moment her feet touch the cool tile in front of the toilet, she convulses, leaning over and retching violently.
I drop to my knees behind her, holding her steady around her waist. The sounds are awful, the smell even worse, but I continue to hold her.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” I murmur, rubbing my hands up and down her spine, trying to ground her, to provide any comfort I can.
“Oh, God,” she cries, a fresh wave of tears.
When her stomach finally settles, I grab a wad of toilet paper and wipe her face. She slumps against me, and I lean back against the cool tile wall, cradling her against me like a baby.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles.
“Stop, Lily. If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to have to spank you,” I whisper against her hair.
A small, faint smile dances across her chapped lips.
“You’d like that too much, wouldn’t you?” I ask teasingly.
She gives three slow nods, her smile still in place, until she succumbs to the weight of sleep, her eyes fluttering shut.