My Husband Ignored My Cancer for My Sister

The second hospital was smaller. Quieter. I chose it because nobody there knew my name.

Dr. Alijah Guzman didn't have kind eyes. He had honest ones. There's a difference.

He laid my file on the desk between us. "Stage two uterine cancer. The first diagnosis was accurate. I'm sorry."

I nodded. I'd expected that.

"We need to do intake bloodwork," he said. "Standard protocol before we discuss treatment options."

I rolled up my sleeve.

The nurse who drew my blood had cold hands. She labeled the vials with careful precision. I watched her write my name over and over. Lea Stone. Lea Stone. Lea Stone. Like she was trying to make sure I was real.

Dr. Guzman called me back into his office forty minutes later.

He didn't sit down.

"You're pregnant," he said.

The room tilted. Then righted itself. Then tilted again.

"How far along?"

"About six weeks. Early. But viable."

I put both hands flat on the desk. The wood was solid. Real. I pressed down until my palms hurt.

"Tell me what happens," I said.

He sat then. Pulled his chair closer. Looked at me with those honest eyes.

"The hysterectomy offers a seventy percent survival rate. But it terminates the pregnancy. There's no way around that. If you choose to carry to term, we can monitor the cancer, but we can't treat it aggressively. No radiation. Limited chemo options. And the hormonal changes of pregnancy will almost certainly accelerate tumor growth. By the time you deliver, you'll likely be stage three. Maybe stage four."

"And then?"

"Then the treatment options are much more limited. And the survival rates drop significantly."

I looked at the ceiling. There was a water stain in the corner shaped like a bird. Or maybe a hand. I couldn't tell.

"How long do I have to decide?"

"I'd recommend making a decision within the week. Every day we wait—"

"I've already decided."

He stopped. Waited.

"I'm keeping the baby."

Silence. Long enough that I looked back at him. His expression hadn't changed. He wasn't arguing. Wasn't trying to convince me. Just watching.

"You understand what that means," he said. Not a question.

"Yes."

"I need to hear you say it."

I met his eyes. "It means the cancer will get worse. It means I'm choosing my baby over myself. It means I might die."

"You will almost certainly die," he said quietly. "I won't soften that for you. You deserve the truth."

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded slowly. Wrote something in my file. "Then we'll monitor you closely. Monthly scans. Bloodwork every two weeks. The moment you deliver, we move to aggressive treatment. Understood?"

"Understood."

He closed the file. Looked at me for a long moment. "This is your choice, Lea. Nobody else's. If anyone tries to tell you differently, you send them to me."

I almost smiled. "Okay."

I drove home with both hands on the wheel and my phone turned off. I didn't want to hear it ring. Didn't want to see Everett's name on the screen. Didn't want to pretend I was the person he thought I was for one more conversation.

There was a life inside me. Small. Invisible. Mine.

For the first time in three years, something was completely, irrevocably mine.

I parked in the garage and sat there until the overhead light timed out. In the dark, I put one hand on my stomach. Nothing felt different. But everything was.

"I choose you," I whispered.

The silence didn't answer. But it didn't need to.

When I finally went upstairs, Everett was at the dining table with his laptop. He glanced up. Smiled. "Hey. How was your day?"

"Fine," I said.

He looked back at his screen. "Lillian called. She's having trouble with her résumé. I told her I'd take a look tomorrow."

"Okay."

"She might stop by the office. I hope that's all right."

I looked at him. Really looked. At the man I'd married. The man I'd loved. The man who had just asked my permission to see my sister like it was a courtesy instead of a knife.

"It's fine," I said.

He smiled again. Relieved. Went back to his email.

I walked to the bedroom. Closed the door. Sat on the edge of the bed with both hands pressed to my stomach and felt the future narrow to a single bright point.

I had eight months. Maybe nine if I was lucky.

I was going to use every single one of them.

Not for him. Not for her. Not for anyone who had ever looked at me and seen someone else.

For the one person who would be mine alone.

I lay down in the dark and felt my heartbeat slow. Steady. Certain.

I wasn't afraid anymore.

I knew exactly what I was doing.