Chapter Thirty-Nine Sophie #2
So, last week, I completed my chemotherapy.
Callum had smiled at me behind his mask and taken a video as I rang the bell, signalling that the chemo journey was over.
Honestly, I felt a little bittersweet about not seeing Nurse Patti on the regular anymore, but she had told me—ordered, more like—to come back and visit.
The day after I completed my chemo, I ordered pizzas for the entire floor of nurses, as I promised myself that I would take care of those who took care of me. I would take nothing for granted and give back where I could.
Now we are in the waiting game. My surgery date is set—December 30—looks like I'm going to ring in the new year with some new boobs.
Well, kind of.
They'll remove my breast tissue—all of it—before they put in the expanders for the implants. The loss of my natural breasts is something I've gradually come to terms with.
It still hurts to think about it, though.
There's a link between femininity and our breasts.
Most women want larger breasts to feel better about their self-image, to feel more feminine and desired.
Now facing the prospect of losing them, I once worried that I would lose a major link to feeling feminine, to feeling desired, to feeling like a whole woman, especially after Paul told me that losing them would be a problem for him.
But when I think about it, especially after reshaping my life into something I never knew could even exist. Making new friends, building my little family, and falling deep in love with the greatest man I've ever known—I want to live.
So, if my breasts are the sacrifice for that, then so be it.
And then Callum's words eclipse the cruelty that Paul told me, so much so that the burn from them doesn't even register.
"Your breasts are phenomenal, just like every inch of you. But they don't make you who you are. They're a part of you, but they're not you. Also, I do have a bone to pick with them since they're literally trying to kill you right now, so I say take them away."
"You're still my Sophie. My sweet, sweet Sophie. I just want you—in whatever shape you're in. With hair, without hair, without breasts, with them... when you're old and gray, and I am too, and we laugh so hard our dentures fly right out of our mouths."
Callum has seen me at my worst and stayed. And I have complete faith that he will still stay, still show up for me, no matter what. I believe that wholeheartedly.
So, goodbye to my breasts.
Fuck you for trying to kill me.
But also, thank you for putting me on this new path.
To Callum. To happiness. To my family.
To Love.
◆◆◆
After dinner, Maeve bundles herself up and goes up to the roof to meditate, and Callum and I cuddle on the couch watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas—the Jim Carrey version, of course.
But something is off.
Everything seems normal with our usual movie night routine—lights are dimmed, candles lit, and both of us cuddled under a soft throw blanket after we ate takeout.
But Callum is quiet, not really laughing at the movie or laughing delayed because he realizes I'm laughing.
When I glance over to him, I see that his eyes are glazed over.
He's distracted, and I hate the anxious twisting in my belly from it.
I don't want us to ever sit in our anxieties and fears.
I learned that from my last relationship.
Taking a deep breath, I grab the remote and pause the movie. "What's going on, my otter?"
He looks at me for a long moment before saying, "I want to talk to you about something."
The tone of his voice sounds heavy, and my mind instantly takes me back to that time months ago, when Paul dropped his bombshell of betrayal. While I know that Callum is not cheating on me—he barely lets me out of his sight—my heart still goes to the worst-case scenario.
I reach out to grab his hand, squeezing it gently and feeling him squeeze back. "It's something that happened at the hospital," he says quietly. "I didn't tell you immediately because I wanted to wait until you were healed and more stable, because it's about Paul..."
I wince, my fingers tightening around his.
The day before I was discharged from the hospital, when I was finally feeling better and just ready to go home, Callum told me Paul had shown up.
I had felt awful that I still had him listed as my emergency contact.
It was not my intention. I had completely forgotten about changing it.
All the scheduling and paperwork upon paperwork—from filling out my medical history no less than five times to battling insurance providers to talking to a lawyer about making out my will.
If I had known, it sure as hell wouldn't have been Paul listed anymore.
"Tell me," I whisper.
Callum inhales slowly, exhaling through his nose. "He asked me if you would speak to him when you're better."
I blink. And blink again. I wasn't expecting that at all.
"Speak to me?" I ask Callum, frowning when he nods. "What could he possibly have to say to me?"
"He said he wants to apologize to you properly."
I snort, "Well, he said the word sorry a lot the last time we spoke. I don't really need to hear it another time."
Callum nods, his thumb brushing the back of my hand.
The movement soothes me, and I notice that I don't really feel anger toward Paul anymore.
I had put all of it on the back burner immediately after we broke up because I had more important things to worry about.
I didn't want to waste energy focusing on the ache in my chest from the man I loved betraying me.
I once said that love is like a muscle you need to exercise or it will atrophy, and I think that's true.
Because when I think of Paul, I don't really feel anything.
And I think that's the sure sign that I don't love that man anymore.
Not one bit. The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference, and that's a perfect way to describe how I feel about Paul.
It's how I feel about Max and Spencer, too. Nothing.
But when I think of the man in front of me, and I compare the love I once felt for Paul to it, it's like comparing a flickering candle flame to the sun. Not just the feeling of love that I feel for Callum, but the way he loves me and cares for me.
To Callum, love is a verb. To Paul, it is a noun.
"What do you think I should do, otter?" I ask, crawling up from my spot and into Callum's open and waiting arms. He places a sweet kiss on my temple and folds me into his embrace, gently rocking us back and forth on the couch.
"I don't think I can tell you what to do with this, sweet girl," he murmurs against my skin.
"I know, but I want your thoughts. Did he even seem genuine? Because the last time I saw him, he said..."
"Because I don't know how to be what you need through twelve weeks and surgery and radiation and the—and... we haven't had sex in a long time—"
"And the surgery—losing your breasts—it's—that's... it's a problem for me."
"I'm sorry. More than you can know. I'm so sorry, Sophie."
I shake my head to clear the words, and Callum tightens his arms around me.
He knows. I told him all of it. The ugly words that he's done so much to erase from my brain—every single fear Paul brought, Callum didn't even blink at.
They'll never fully be erased from my brain, but they don't hurt so much anymore.
Callum cups my face, thumb gently brushing the apple of my cheek.
"I think... he seemed genuine. I still don't like him and I never will, not after what he did to you, but... I think he's drowning in regret right now and is trying to swim out of it. And he thinks your forgiveness might be a life jacket. You don't owe him a thing, though, Sophie."
I've been texting Donna ever since Paul told her about me in the hospital, and she talked to Maeve about what was going on.
She still keeps her 'no talking about Paul' rule with me, but she let it slip the other day and said something about Paul and his dad putting up her Christmas lights, so I know he's back living there with them.
And that's totally fine. I never wanted to isolate Paul from his family.
I had been genuinely—pleasantly—surprised when they cut him off for me, but if Donna has let him back into her house, then she must see a change in him.
Which is good, I hope he does change.
I hope he never does to anyone else what he did to me.
"I can't say that I'm not curious to hear what he has to say," I sigh, but peer up at Callum's face. "But, how do you feel about me speaking to him?"
"I trust you."
His answer is immediate and instinctive, and it makes me smile.
"I'll admit... when I found out he was still your emergency contact, I was worried," Callum says, his expression faltering for a moment. "I thought maybe you were keeping him on it for a reason..."
My heart drops, "Callum—"
"Tonya already straightened me out on that. I was spiralling because I was worried about you," he admits, kissing my cheek in an unneeded apology. "I trust you, Sophie. More than I've ever trusted anyone. So, if you want to speak to Paul, or even if you don't, I will support you no matter what."
I don't want to live in what-ifs. Especially not now, not with chemo done and the surgery looming.
"I choose you. Against Paul, against any other man on earth—fictional or otherwise," I add, making him chuckle and pull me closer. "I choose you, Callum. Always."
"Always," he murmurs, gently placing a kiss on my lips. "I love you, Sophie. I love you more than I ever thought capable of loving someone."
"I love you, Callum," I whisper, smiling against his mouth. "More than anything." I pull back just enough to add, "I'm not unblocking his number, though. I'll call Donna."
◆◆◆
"Why do I feel like I'm about to rumble?"
"So are you a Soc or a Greaser in this scenario?"
I mock-gasp, offended he would even ask what side I'm on. Greaser for life, obviously. "How dare you!"