Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Wiping more tears, she mumbles, “It’s all about you.”
Pressing my hands to the side of my head, my fingers dig into my scalp. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry I’m the one who has cancer. It should have been you. Then, you could have gotten all of the special attention. I love this. I love the pain. I love that not dying takes literally everything I have. You should be jealous. Cancer is ah-fucking-mazing!”
She sobs, shaking her head. “You’re an asshole. A c-cruel asshole.”
I nod. “Yep. I sure am. That’s a good start to my eulogy. Should we write that down, or—”
“STOP IT!” She hurls the wine glass at me but misses by a mile. “You want me to hate you? Is that it?”
“Hate me?” I laugh, shaking my head. “No. I’m waiting for you to love me. To. Fucking. Love. Me! You hit me with your car and tried to perform CPR while I was breathing, staring you straight in the eye. You instinctually tried to save me when I wasn’t dying. And I swear that’s when I fel—” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to keep my composure, but this hurts.
My nose burns first, then my eyes. And my throat thickens. I can’t stop it. “That’s when I fell in love with you.” I swallow hard, dropping my hand, voice shaky. “And now, eleven years and one child later, when I know I love you to the depths of my soul, and I need … I fucking need you to save my life, you won’t even look at me.”
She drags her gaze from the floor to meet mine, making no attempt to keep up with her tears. And as much as I want to look away and not blink to keep my tears in check, I don’t. I bleed every emotion. I lay it all at her feet because this is the only moment we have. There is no guarantee of another one. And if I continue to protect her from my truth, we are already over. I’m already dead.
“Astrid—”
“No, Amelia. This isn’t about Astrid.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because she’s ten. And she’s resilient. When she’s old enough to process this properly, she’ll be brokenhearted that she’s had to grow up without her father. And it won’t matter how many friends she has, how accomplished a dancer she becomes, or what worldly possessions she’s accumulated. Nothing will make this right.
“Or … she will experience a new way of living that truly values life. And maybe, by some miracle, we’ll look back together on this moment and laugh at how ridiculous it was that we gave the decision a second thought. So this has nothing to do with Astrid and everything to do with you and your fear of change. Your fear of losing control. Your fear of losing me. But if I stay, this is the beginning of the end because I’m not going to let them cut me open or dump toxic chemicals into my body so that you can feel good about the choice a doctor thinks I should make. I can either live with you or die for you. It’s your decision.”
She returns a blank stare. No more tears. Barely any detectable emotion. “Price, everything you do is for us. You’re the sacrificial one. The martyr. And I’m being truthful when I say that. I’ve never taken for granted how hard you’ve worked for our family. But in that process, I’ve been raising our daughter. I’m the one who comforts her when she’s sick. I’m the one who listens to her when she’s had a bad day at school. When you left, I was the one left to explain your absence without breaking her heart. I’m the one who’s done everything possible to keep her from feeling this pain that’s been residing in our house for over a year. And if you die, I’ll be the one to pick up the tiny pieces of her heart and put them back together. So you say this isn’t about Astrid, but that’s just convenient for you. If you die on my watch, Astrid will blame me. If you die on your doctor’s watch, she’ll chalk it up to life. But at least she’ll always believe we did our best to fight it.”
I rub my eyes and then my temples. “You have me dying in both scenarios.” I turn. “There’s nothing left to say.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I’M DYING. GO AHEAD AND TALK DIRTY TO ME.
Scottie: Hi. Can we talk about my boobs? They’re leaking uncontrollably. And my little girl won’t stay awake long enough to help her mommy out. But we have our Christmas tree up. Look!
It’s been three days since I’ve talked to my wife.
Three days since I’ve gone to work.
I spend all day in my miserably gloomy office. When Astrid comes home from school, we play the part of happy parents. We interact with her without saying a word to each other.