37. Gabrielle
Gabrielle
I’m going through the motions at work this morning, but my mind is nowhere near the exam room I’m standing in.
Lately, I’ve been able to fake it pretty well.
Smile through the routine check-ups and keep my focus on the animals in front of me.
But today? I feel like I’m just going through all of the steps on autopilot.
My hands work, and my voice moves, but my heart is somewhere else, somewhere in a hospital room across the city.
I glance at my phone between appointments, scrolling through the texts from Cam’s mom.
Gabrielle: How’s everything going today?
Cam’s Mom: Rough day. The chemo hit harder today. Fever, nausea, and body aches. He’s trying to rest.
My stomach tightens with sympathy pain as I respond.
Gabrielle: I’m heading there soon.
Slipping my phone away, I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and force myself to move on with the next patient.
Just two more appointments. Then I can leave.
I must not hide it as well as I think because as soon as I step back into the break room, Kinsley is there, arms crossed, head tilted, giving me a pointed look.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, even though she already knows.
I sigh, leaning against the counter. “Cam’s having a bad day.”
Her expression softens instantly. “How bad?”
“Bad.”
I glance at the clock, calculating how long it’ll take me to finish up and get to him.
Kinsley doesn’t hesitate. “Move your last two appointments over, and go.”
“Are you sure?”
She rolls her eyes. “Gabrielle, go. I’ll handle everything, and William is here if I can’t do it.” She softens, squeezing my arm.
I nod, giving her a grateful smile before grabbing my bag and heading out the door.
“I love you, okay? Get there safe.”
“Love you too. Thank you, Kins.”
* * *
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I hear my mom’s voice on the phone.
“Gabrielle?”
I blink through my blurry vision, swiping my card and pushing through the turnstile.
“Hey, Mom.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help.
It was faster to take the train instead of driving after work, so I’m hopping on the first one straight over to the hospital.
The station smells like damp concrete, old coffee, and a hint of piss, like always.
I walk down the stairs slowly, one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching my phone.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
I inhale sharply, the weight of the last few months crashing down pretty hard in this moment for some reason. “I just…” My voice wobbles. “Everything seems so hard right now. I hate seeing him like this. I hate it so much, Mom.”
She’s quiet for a moment, trying to find the right comforting words. “I know, sweetheart,” she finally says. “I know.”
I swipe at my cheeks, trying to pull myself together, hoping no one around notices. But it’s New York; no one bats an eye at a girl crying in the train station.
“He was doing so good. We were doing so good. And now it’s like…it’s like I got him back just to lose him all over again. And I can’t—” My breath shudders. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can,” she tells me firmly and unwavering, and it’s what I need right now. “Because you love him. And because he needs you right now. You’re strong, Gabrielle. Stronger than you know. You always have been.”
I let out a shaky breath. “It just hurts.”
“I know, baby.” She pauses. “But you’re not doing this alone.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, even though I don’t fully believe it.
I mumble a weak I love you right before the train arrives. The doors slid open, and I stepped inside, leaning against the window and pressing the side of my head to the cool glass, watching the tunnel blur past.
I have to pull myself together before I see him. I don’t want to scare him by being this scared.
* * *
The second I step into his hospital room, I can feel how different today is.
He looks wrecked.
His skin is pale and damp with sweat. There’s a deep crease between his brows, like even in sleep, he can’t escape the pain. His IV pole is cluttered with bags—fluids, chemo, anti-nausea meds, and pain relief. The machines beep every so often, monitoring every fragile part of him.
His mom is perched on the edge of the chair beside him, exhaustion etched into her every feature. She looks up when I walk in, offering a weak, grateful smile.
“He’s been in and out of sleep,” she says quietly, pressing a damp cloth to his head. “But when he’s awake, it’s been pretty rough.”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat and move to his bedside. “Go grab a bite of real food,” I tell her softly. “I’ve got him.”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking to her son, but eventually nods. “I’ll be back soon,” she tells me, squeezing my arm before stepping out.
The second the door closes, I kneel beside the bed, brushing my fingers over his warm, clammy skin. “Cam?”
His eyelids flutter, then barely crack open. His normally bright brown eyes are glassy and distant. “Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
My chest clenches as I force a smile for him. “Hey, you.”
“You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smirk, but he’s too exhausted.
I reach for the washcloth, dipping it in cool water before dabbing it against his forehead, watching him shiver slightly at the temperature change, but he doesn’t protest.
His body is worn down—from the chemo, the fevers, the constant assault on his immune system.
“Your mom said today was pretty bad,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes. “It’s been a real party.” His voice is weak, but he still tries to joke.
“You don’t have to pretend around me, Cam. The comedian can hang his hat up for a little while, okay?”
“I feel like crap, babe.”
I nod, shifting closer, rubbing slow circles on his arm. “What do you need?”
He barely shakes his head. “You.”
I blink back tears, trying not to get choked up.
I wish I could fix this. I wish I could take all of his pain, all of the sickness, and carry it for him.
Instead, I do the only thing I can—I just stay.
I keep running the cool cloth over his skin, keep rubbing slow, soothing patterns into his arm, keep whispering to him, telling him about my day, about the stupid things Kinsley did at work, anything to distract him.
Eventually, his breathing slows, and his muscles relax. His fingers twitch slightly, searching for mine, and I lace them together, bringing his knuckles to my lips.
“You’re doing so good, Cam,” I murmur against his skin. “You’re my real hero, you know that? And you’re gonna beat this again, just like last time.”
He doesn’t respond, but I feel his fingers tighten just slightly, like he’s telling me he heard me.
Like he’s telling me he believes me.
Even if I don’t know if I believe myself.