Chapter 14 - The Shadow on the Scan
The lesion was in her uterus.
Small.
But persistent.
The lung spots were shrinking.
Her blood markers were falling.
Everything should have been moving in the right direction.
Except one area wasn't.
Dr. Brooks showed us the scan.
“There is still active tissue here.”
Sophie stared.
“What does that mean?”
“It may respond to additional treatment.”
“May?”
Dr. Brooks paused.
“Or we may eventually need surgery.”
Sophie understood immediately.
“What kind?”
The doctor didn't answer fast enough.
Sophie stood.
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“No hysterectomy.”
“We are not there yet.”
“You thought it.”
“I have to consider every option.”
Sophie paced.
I remained seated.
She pointed toward Dr. Brooks.
“You said this treatment could preserve fertility.”
“I said we would try.”
“That isn't the same.”
“No.”
Sophie turned toward me.
“Say something.”
My heart pounded.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell her no.”
I stood slowly.
“I can't.”
Her face changed.
“You can't?”
“I won't tell your doctor to remove an option that could save your life.”
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
“No, Ethan.”
She put both hands over her abdomen.
“This is the last thing my body can still do.”
Her voice cracked.
“It failed three times.”
I moved closer.
“Your body didn't fail.”
“Don't.”
“It didn't.”
“I lost three pregnancies.”
“You survived three losses.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“But none of that makes you defective.”
She flinched.
I realized she had been thinking that word.
Maybe for years.
“Sophie.”
Her tears came.
“If they take it, it's final.”
“I know.”
“No more maybe.”
“I know.”
“No more next time.”
“I know.”
She hit my chest once with the side of her fist.
Not hard.
Just grief finding somewhere to go.
“You don't know.”
I let her hit me again.
Then I caught her hand.
“I know I would rather spend fifty years with you and no children than bury you while protecting the possibility of one.”
She froze.
“I know that.”
Her face crumpled.
I pulled her against me.
This time, she didn't step away.
Dr. Brooks left quietly.
Sophie cried into my shirt.
After a long time, she whispered, “I wanted to be somebody's mother.”
I closed my eyes.
“You already are.”
She stiffened.
“Our babies existed.”
I held her tighter.
“They mattered.”
Her breathing broke.
“So did you.”
That night, she agreed to continue treatment for two more cycles before deciding about surgery.
Two cycles.
Six weeks.
May you like
A deadline.
And for the first time, the future felt less like an endless road and more like a wall we were racing toward.
