Chapter Thirty-One Paul #3
"When you find something in your body that just feels off, your mind immediately starts rationalizing.
It's just a cyst, it's a growth, it's a mole, it's your imagination.
It's nothing to worry about. Your mind is telling you this, while your body feels like it's gone into fight-or-flight mode.
Something inside me just knew that it was serious. "
Within weeks, Sophie had diagnostic imaging, a biopsy, and an earth-shattering diagnosis—Breast Cancer.
About 85% of women diagnosed with breast cancer have no family history of the disease—meaning it can happen to anyone.
"There were really no warning signs for me. I didn't have a family history of cancer, no 'high-risk' profile. I was a normal twenty-nine-year-old woman in the middle of planning my wedding."
A wedding that would ultimately never happen.
"I was in the middle of trying to process that I had a sickness that could be deadly.
That I might need chemotherapy and surgery.
That I might lose my hair, my breasts, my future," Sophie says, swallowing hard.
"And the one thing I could hold onto in this chaotic and unpredictable time was my fiancé.
I had assured myself that he would be there, just as he was for all of the appointments, holding my hand and telling me it would be okay. "
Sophie looks me right in the eye and shrugs, "I didn't know at the time that he had started having sex with his coworker."
Her entire world, already shaky from the cancer and the uncertain future, collapsed in an instant.
"It felt," she says, taking a long pause to gather her thoughts, "like being kicked when I was already bleeding out."
Unfortunately, Sophie's story isn't rare. According to a landmark study published in the journal Cancer, nearly 21% of women diagnosed with a serious illness like cancer are abandoned by their partners—compared to just 3% of men.
It's a devastating statistic that highlights an ugly truth about gendered emotional labor: when sickness enters a relationship, women overwhelmingly stay, while men are far more likely to flee, cheat, or "seek a replacement."
"At least I didn't have to deal with the paperwork of divorce," Sophie says, ever the optimist.
Something I have always admired about Sophie is her resilience and ability to look on the bright side. I think with her positive attitude, she just can't help but pull everyone into her orbit.
"I had called my sister after he left, and she had coached me through a panic attack. She knew exactly what to say to pull me out of it and gave me some things to do, to keep my hands and mind busy. One of them was to treat myself that day, so I did."
That led her to her favorite local restaurant, and then—fatefully—to a bookstore she'd passed dozens of times but never entered. Sophie smiles brightly, recounting this to me, a look of pure joy crossing her face as she continues:
"And on that day—objectively the worst day of my life—I met Callum."
She's talking about Callum Rhodes, the man who slowly, patiently, lovingly helped her rebuild her life.
His bookstore, Rivers & Rhodes, sits in the heart of Starling Cove, Massachusetts—a storybook coastal New England town.
It's the kind of independent bookstore that feels mystical and welcomes you in like a warm embrace: sunlight through tall windows, plants in mismatched pots, the smell of wood and spice, the low hum of a Fleetwood Mac record playing.
It's been family-run for a decade by Callum and his mother, Maeve.
I know this place well. I'm part of the bookstore's Monday-night book club, Ever After Always, where I first met Sophie in August. She'd walked in wearing a shy smile and seeping bravery from every pore. Within ten minutes, we were all laughing, and by the end of the night, she was one of us.
None of us has let her go since.
"It's funny," Sophie says now, her smile soft. "I kept losing things—my hair, my health, my energy, my breasts soon—but with everything I lost, I gained so much more. Friendship. Family. Hope. People who actually show up for me. The loss was completely worth what I gained in return."
She looks down, then back up at me, eyes glistening but bright with happiness.
"My entire life changed that day I walked into that store and met Callum.
He didn't look at me like I was fragile.
He didn't try to fix me. He just made me laugh.
He let me feel normal again. And now he's... he's everything to me. "
Sophie is now more than halfway through her chemotherapy treatment and will be having a double mastectomy in December. After that, she will go through radiation treatment. When I ask Sophie if she's nervous or worried about these treatments, she tells me.
"I was," she admits. "But with the people I have in my corner now, I feel like I can face anything.
I feel hopeful now. Even when I'm exhausted or sick from chemo, I can still smile.
I can still show up to book club and debate about tropes and book boyfriends and laugh with my friends.
I can make it through the day and be so thankful that not only am I still here, but that I'm thriving. "
Sophie is one of the lucky ones to have a support network and keep her job while undergoing treatment, but she acknowledges that others are not so lucky.
What's often left out of these glossy awareness campaigns is the financial devastation that can follow. Treatment for breast cancer can exceed $100,000 in the first year alone, leaving patients fighting for their lives and their livelihoods at the same time.
Breast cancer doesn't affect all women equally.
According to data from the American Cancer Society, Black women are 40% more likely to die from breast cancer than white women, despite similar incidence rates.
Socioeconomic inequality, medical bias, and lack of access to early screening are among the driving factors.
"I know my story isn't the norm," she says. "There are women out there going through this alone or struggling financially or not getting the equitable care that they deserve. And that's just... God, it's just so not fair."
At the bottom, you'll find various charities supporting cancer research, patient care groups for patients and their families, and survivor support. Sophie asks anyone who can make donations to those in need to do so.
When I ask what she hopes readers will take away from her story, Sophie thinks for a long moment before answering.
"I want my story to remind them that it's possible to start again.
Even with something like cancer, your life is not over.
Sometimes the ugliest endings lead to the most beautiful beginnings," she says, her voice quiet but sure.
"No matter what cancer takes from you—your hair, your breasts, your energy, your future plans—it can't take you.
It can't take your kindness, your spirit, or your ability to love and hope again. "
She pauses, smiling through tears that don't fall.
"And sometimes when you lose everything, that's when you finally find it all."
◆◆◆
The tears trickle slowly at first.
By the time I reach the last lines of the article, they're falling steadily, blurring the words on the screen into a watery mess. I drag the heel of my hand across my face, harshly, angrily, but it's useless. The more I try to stop them, the quicker they fall.
The sound that escapes me is broken and ugly as I drop my head into my hands and weep. My chest burns, and it feels like my heart is trying to claw its way out. The pain is shredding, ripping me from the top of my head to my toes. My breathing turns choppy as I sob, stuttering with every inhale.
I clench my jaw to keep from screaming out.
If I start, I won't stop, and I'll wake up the whole house.
Grief, that's what I'm feeling right now.
Pure grief—brutal, aching, and so goddamn consuming it feels like I'm having a heart attack.
Her name breaks from my mouth like a prayer, "Sophie..."
I scroll back to the top and read the article over and over again.
Every line feels like a knife to my gut, ripping me open, and I keep reading because I deserve this hurt.
I caused this wreckage. I deserve to feel every single ounce of this pain, to sit in it and choke on it, to let it tear through me the way I tore through her.
I close my eyes and try—just for a second—to flip it.
To feel it too. I imagine that it was Sophie who had cheated on me, and I picture her voice breaking as she tells me she'd slept with someone else.
I picture that moment of betrayal, the disbelief, the humiliation.
And then I realize that it doesn't work.
Sophie wouldn't do that. She would never, and that's what makes it unbearable—how easy it was. How simple it was to destroy the person who would've done anything for me. I can see Elise smiling at me, saying the right things, making me feel seen, desired, validated—feeding the worst parts of me.
And I let it happen, because I liked it. It was easier than the fear.
You disgusting, pathetic asshole!
You weak, spineless piece of shit!
You had Sophie. This remarkable woman who loved you, took care of you, treated you like a King, and what did you do? Threw it all away because of cancer. Because you were too much of a coward to stand beside her when she needed you most.
Now, she's still here, still fighting and still smiling.
She's practically fucking thriving without you.
You're the one left behind. What does that say about you as a fiancé?
What does that say about the kind of man you are?
What did you do for her that made you have the absolute balls to cheat on her?
Nothing, you are nothing.
And now she's found someone—Callum Rhodes.
He's the one taking care of her now.
The images taunt me—him holding her close and smelling that marshmallow scent of hers, kissing her perfect lips, making love to her like I once had the privilege to do.
I can picture her tucked beneath his chin, smiling that sleepy smile she used to give me, her hand on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Callum being there for her during her appointments, her surgery, and her recovery.
Callum and Sophie.
They spin through my head, relentlessly torturing me—what I lost. My greatest loss. Sophie.
And you know what really fucking sucks?
I know Callum's the type of guy who actually deserves someone like Sophie. At least, the Callum I had known as a kid and teen was. I imagine the adult version is much the same.
Callum was always just... good. Kind. Genuine.
It was so easy to trick him back then because he just trusted people and didn't think they would lie to him.
He was kind and listened to me during those walks home from school.
Even when other kids made fun of him, he'd just let it roll off him and move on.
And maybe I was jealous of that. That I cared so much, and Callum didn't seem to care what people thought of him. Yeah, he was bullied by other kids for being quiet or chunky, but he never lashed out at them. Never made fun of them back. Never turned cruel.
He just kept moving forward.
There's a brief flash of embarrassment at not only Starling Cove knowing about my betrayal, but now whoever reads this will read about her ex-fiancé cheating and will call me every name in the book. But you know what? I deserve it. Every cruel word, every bit of disgust—they're earned.
I betrayed her, that's my burden to bear.
And I will not tell her the way she should heal. This is ultimately her story, her journey, her battle, and I forgot that from the beginning. I made it about my fear, my weakness, my need for control.
Humility is a heavy thing to bear, but you must bear it all the same.
I'll bear it, and I'll be better.
When I scroll back down to the bottom of the article, my eyes catch on to the section listing cancer charities and support groups—names, links, donation portals.
The idea strikes me then, and I pull up another browser. I log into my bank account and pull up my savings—the money I had emptied from mine and Sophie's joint account.
The money that was supposed to be for our wedding, for a down payment on a house.
For the future that I destroyed.
One by one, I go down the list and donate every cent, emptying the account until it hits zero.
Then sit back and feel.
Do I feel better?
No.
But that's not the point.
I think of Father Martin's words, Dr. Forseti's words—making things right isn't about gratification for me.
It's about knowing I chose to do the right thing anyway.