While Grace showers, I air out the kitchen and replay the entire morning in my mind. Knowing she had to leave for work early this morning, I slipped out of bed before her to make our breakfast so we’d at least have a few minutes together. With the pan and the oil heating up, I grabbed the ingredients to whip up pancakes. When I pulled the bag of flour out of the airtight container, I saw something fall out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t pay much attention to it at first.

But once I picked it up, the letter had my full attention.

The doctor’s name in the return address wasn’t familiar to me.

It was addressed to Grace.

She’d hidden it in the flour canister.

My first thought was admittedly that she’d been cheating on me, after all. So I snatched the letter from the envelope, ready to tear into a doctor for trying to take my wife from me.

Then I read the pathology report. Then I read it again. And again. Over and over until the words finally started to sink in and make sense to my muddled brain.

A doctor isn’t taking my wife away from me.

Cancer is.

I don’t know how long I stared at the diagnosis while all the thoughts ran through my mind at Mach speed. Reading it didn’t answer any of my questions—the most prevalent one being why Grace hid this from me for so long. We’ve been working on our relationship and our marriage for weeks and weeks now.

Haven’t we?

It started out as an agreement, but a little time together proved to be exactly what we needed to reconnect as a couple.

Didn’t it?

The only logical answer I could come up with to answer both questions was one simple word.

No.

No, we hadn’t been working on our relationship. I had been—but she’d been pretending.

No, we hadn’t reconnected as a couple. I had reconnected with her—but she hadn’t with me.

It was why she still hadn’t told me she loved me even though I’ve said it to her a hundred times now.

I foolishly thought she’d kept it from me because I’d betrayed her and she wanted to retaliate. What better way to get the last word than to make me fall head over heels in love with her again, only to make me look and feel like a fool in the end? I’d ended my relationship with Tammy. My job had been on the line. My whole world had turned, and Grace had become my primary focus.

The pain from just the thought of her betrayal crushed the life out of me. Pains shot through my chest. Tears stung my eyes. I wanted to yell for her, to demand the answers I didn’t want to hear, but I couldn’t speak. My whole world was crashing and burning all around me, and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to stop it.

Then she was there in the kitchen with me, and every insane thought in my mind suddenly tumbled out of my mouth. I don’t even know if everything I said was in full, coherent sentences. Through the accusations I hurled at her, and after the way I shut down in a poor attempt to protect my heart from more damage, my Grace still put me first. Though I was a complete ass, she patiently explained what had happened.

Never again, I vowed right then and there. Never again will I think of myself before I think of my wife.

Everything she’d done was for Kyle and me. She put us first when the concentration should’ve been on her. All the concerted efforts should’ve been to heal her. That shouldn’t have surprised me, in retrospect. That’s who she’s always been, from the time we started dating as teenagers until now.

After thirty-eight years, I should be wiser than I am. I thought I’d have life figured out by now. This news explains why I’ve seen tears in her eyes from time to time, though she tried to hide it. This whole time, I thought her tears were only because of my infidelity. Now I know she carried so much more weight on her shoulders than I realized.

My attention turns to her as she comes back down the stairs. Her sniffles are muffled, but I hear them just the same. She lowers her head and wipes away a tear, trying to hide her concerns from me again. But I can’t take my eyes off of her now. The irrational fear that this moment is the last I’ll have with her has overpowered my rational mind. Logic has been replaced by absurdity. The truth is I don’t care how ludicrous I appear to anyone else—I know I can’t live without her. I’m just a dark shell of a man without her love and light in my life.

Saving Grace is my only hope.

“No more hiding from me, Grace. Talk to me, babe. Why are you crying? What are you feeling, thinking, worrying about? Let me help carry the burden.”

When she looks up at me, the dam breaks, and streams of tears cover her cheeks. “It’s already started.”

“What’s already started?” I open my arms, and she flies into them, wrapping her arms around my waist. With my mouth close to her ear, I rub her back with one hand while holding her close with the other. “Talk to me, my love. Tell me what’s going on.”

“In the shower,” she sobs. “My hair started falling out in clumps. God, Blake, it’s already starting, and I’m not ready for this.”

“I know, babe. But believe me when I say it’ll be okay. I can’t even imagine what a hard adjustment this is for you, but it won’t change how much I love you.”

“What about…” She stops for a second to collect her courage and swallow her weeping. “What if they have to remove my breast? I won’t look the same at all. My hair, my body, nothing.”

“Hey, listen to me for a minute.” She nods her head but doesn’t raise her face to look at me. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, and I’m sorry you have more to face in the near future. But I want you to remember something when you’re sad or worried about the coming changes.”

“What?” she asks with a watery voice.

“Your hair is beautiful, but I don’t love it. I didn’t marry you for your body. Our vows didn’t include anything about your appearance. If your hair never grows back, I won’t care one bit about it. If it grows back completely gray, I still won’t care. If it’s long, short, blond, red, brown, black, or pink, I don’t care.

“I’m in love with you. Not your hair, not your body. I love everything about you, but any changes you go through won’t change my love for you. If the doctor says you need a mastectomy, I’ll ask him about a double mastectomy so we’ll never have to face this again. After the surgery, I’ll tell you every day how beautiful you are to me, because it’s not about how you look on the outside. It’s about who you are inside—and you’re the most beautiful woman ever to walk on Earth. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt it.”

She cries into my chest, and all I can do is hold her until she finishes. I can repeat myself until I’m blue in the face, but actions speak louder than words, and she needs rock-solid proof. I’m ready to be whatever she needs me to be. For however long she’ll have me.

When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but she’s still gorgeous. “I’d better get going, or I’ll be late for work. Dr. Evers, my oncologist, asked me to come by his office today on my break. I’m afraid he has more bad news for me.”

“What time? I’ll be there with you.”

“I can go during lunch if you want to meet me.”

“Lunch it is. I’ll bring you something to eat because I know you won’t take the time to grab anything.” She smiles sheepishly at me but doesn’t disagree. “Come on, I’ll take you to work and get you breakfast at the drive-thru since I made you miss pancakes this morning.”

We hold hands the entire ride to the hospital, both of us searching for the strength to make it through the day. At least we’re reaching for each other through this crisis. Before she gets out, I lean across the console and pull her to me. Our lips lock in a demanding kiss, then I feel her tongue sweep across my bottom lip. Without hesitation, I wrap my tongue around hers and suck it into my mouth. My fingers curl around her neck and dig in, while being mindful not to tug on her hair.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” I say when we break for air. “I love you, Grace. Until the end of time.”

She kisses me softly and says she’ll text me her lunch time when she checks the break schedule in the unit. Then she slides out of the car, and I watch her walk across the courtyard to the front door of the hospital.

When I get home, I find Kyle in the kitchen flipping the pancakes I never got around to making. “You’d sleep through an earthquake, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. But not through the fire alarm that was going off way before dawn this morning. I thought I’d find burned food everywhere, but it doesn’t seem the food ever made it to the stove.” Kyle arches one eyebrow when he turns his gaze to me.

“No, I never poured the first pancake. Have a seat, son. We need to talk.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks me dead in the eye. “How bad is Mom’s cancer?”

I’m so shocked, all I can do is stare at him with my mouth gaping open for several seconds. “You already knew?”

What the fuck? Am I the only one who didn’t know?

“Yeah, I heard her on the phone when she got the ultrasound results. When they did the biopsy, I made sure I was here more to help her around the house while she was healing. She didn’t tell me, so I didn’t ask. I figured she’d tell me when she was ready or knew more about it.” He takes the seat across from me and puts the plate of pancakes between us.

“It’s serious, Kyle. She’s on chemotherapy now to try to reduce the size of the tumor before having surgery. She’s already losing her hair, and she said it’ll all be gone within a couple of days. I’ll be straight with you, son. She’s not taking that part too well.”

“This is why we went to see her parents for Christmas?”

“Yes, it is.” I nod and look down, not wanting to speak the rest of my thoughts.

“She’s making her end-of-life arrangements, isn’t she?”

“What? What did you say?” I can’t breathe.

“I read about it after I overheard her conversation—I think she was talking to Leigh. Mom said she wouldn’t put the pressure on us to make her final healthcare decisions, that we’d have enough on us without having to understand all the medical lingo. I think she’s making a living will or whatever it’s called to spell out her final wishes.”

We sit in painful silence for a couple of minutes. Neither of us moving. Neither reaching for the stack of pancakes.

“Dad, is Mom going to die?”

I shake my head, but I can’t say the word. Because I don’t know. I’m not sure I know everything yet. I’m not sure if Grace even knows everything yet. I have so many questions for the doctor today, I don’t even know what to ask. My only clear thought is to beg him to save my wife.

Don’t take her away from me now. Please, God.

“Are you not telling me something?” Kyle demands.

“You know everything I know, son. We’re still just reeling from the news. I’m going to the doctor with her in a few hours. Hopefully I’ll find out more then.”

“How am I supposed to go to school with all this on my mind?”

“You know your mom hasn’t told you about this just for that very reason. She wants your mind on your grades and where you’re going to college. She wants you to focus on your life and your goals.”

“I don’t give a shit if this makes me sound like a mama’s boy. There’s no way I’m leaving my mom and going far away for college when she has cancer. I will stay right here and go to a local college until she gets the all clear. I’ll take a year off, find a part-time job, and help around here. Whatever it takes. But if she’s fighting for her life, I won’t miss out on spending that time with her.”

“That doesn’t make you sound like a mama’s boy at all. And, so what if it did? You love her, as you should. She’ll probably still try to argue with you, though.”

“She won’t win that fight.” He stabs a pancake with his fork and covers it with syrup. “But I’m not going to school today. I won’t be able to focus on anything but what the doctor has to say. You’ll tell me, right?”

“I will tell you. And I’ll talk to your mother about keeping you informed, too. No more secrets in this house.”

Kyle looks at me as if he wants to say something more, but he nods his head and begins eating instead. The kid is more observant than I gave him credit for, so my gut says he wanted to ask me about Tammy and the secrets I’ve kept. But shame and regret keep me from confessing my sins. The fear of losing my son and my wife is far too real.

The morning drags by despite the numerous phone calls I’ve made and browser tabs I have open, researching every possible scenario. There’s a reason all my doctors are adamant that their patients refrain from using the internet to self-diagnose. I’m almost convinced I’m dying of a rare disease only contracted in the remote areas of Africa, where I’ve never been, just from reading the various symptoms listed.

Grace sent me a quick text with the time to meet her at Dr. Evers’s office, so I leave early and pick up her lunch on the way. I don’t know how I expect her to eat when my stomach is rolling like huge waves in a hurricane. The unknown is driving me crazy. With a clearer picture of what we’re facing, I think Grace and I can find a way to beat this. Together.

Grace is already in the waiting room when I step into the doctor’s office. I rush to her side and offer the bag with her lunch. She stares at it for a moment as if it’s an insect she doesn’t want to touch, but she eventually takes it from me and places it in the empty chair beside her.

“Not hungry?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“I couldn’t eat now if my life depended on it.” She chuckles lightly for a second, then suddenly stops when the weight of her words hits us each squarely in the chest. “Bad choice of words, I guess.”

“Grace, do you know something I don’t?”

“No, I don’t know anything for certain. I just have a bad feeling all the side effects from the chemo I’ve had aren’t actually side effects from chemo.”

“Grace Hardy?” The nurse calls from the open doorway before I can press her for more information.

The nurse takes Grace’s vitals and records her weight, and the full reality of her drastic weight loss over the past couple of months hits me. It wasn’t only because of me, but now I wish that wasn’t the case. My feet are rooted to the floor when the nurse starts to lead Grace to the doctor’s office, not an examination room. My heart is racing, my legs are jumping, and my hands are shaking.

This isn’t happening.