Chapter 50

THEN:

The leathercreaked as Sarah"s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. The car hummed through streets lined with tall palm trees, their branches brushing a sky heavy with unshed rain. Every mile closer to the doctor"s office was a silent battle against the siren call of a liquid crutch she had forsaken but not forgotten.

What she wouldn't give for just one small glass of wine. Or just a sip.

But no. She had been sober for five days now, and she couldn't give in to the desire. She had promised Steven that much.

"Almost there," Steven murmured, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, a futile attempt to avoid staring at the tension etched in Sarah"s profile.

"Uh-huh," she replied, a terse nod accompanying her words. The car"s interior was thick with unspoken fears, the air conditioning battling the heat from the two bodies enclosed in this moving capsule of anxiety.

The vehicle rolled to a stop in the parking lot of the pristine medical building, its facade a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside Sarah. She killed the engine, feeling the vibration ebb away beneath her, much like the resolve that threatened to slip through her fingers.

"Ready?" Steven asked, turning his attention back to her. He searched her face for the assurance he needed as much as she did.

"Let"s go," she answered, pushing the door open and stepping out into the humidity that seemed eager to claim her.

They entered the doctor"s office, a sanctuary of sterile smells and soft-spoken greetings. Behind the reception desk stood the doctor, an unexpected figure who could have stepped out of the pages of a glossy magazine. With his perfectly coiffed hair and a smile that seemed to pull at every heartstring, he extended a hand in welcome.

"Sarah, Steven, it"s good to see you both," he said, his voice a melody of warmth that somehow eased the barbed wire wrapped around Sarah"s chest.

"Doctor," Sarah greeted, her voice steadier than she felt. Her hand briefly clasped his. His touch was gentle, and his eyes reflected an empathy that didn"t seem practiced or forced.

"Thank you for seeing us," Steven added, his handshake firm yet brief.

"Of course," the doctor replied with a nod, his smile unwavering. "Shall we?"

Sarah followed behind the two men, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, each beat a reminder of the reason they were here. She straightened her shoulders, casting a last longing glance at the exit before committing herself to whatever truths lay ahead.

Steven cleared his throat, his words slicing through the silence. "Doctor, Sarah"s… well, she's been worried about Victoria's condition." His gaze flickered to Sarah, seeking silent permission before he continued.

"Sarah has her suspicions," Steven said. His voice was steady, but the concern in his eyes betrayed him. "She wants to know more about what"s going on. Can you explain?"

The doctor's smile dimmed, the first sign of gravity settling into the room. He nodded, directing them toward the leather chairs that faced his polished mahogany desk.

"Please, sit down."

Sarah hesitated, feeling the weight of the room, the space between hope and despair narrowing with each breath. She perched on the edge of the chair as if ready to flee from whatever truth might unfold.

"As you know, Victoria is very sick," the doctor began, his eyes locking onto Sarah"s. His tone had shifted, the melody now a somber hymn. "It started with leukemia, which slowly got better, but then we found cancer in her throat. The cancer that started in her throat…."

Sarah felt the air leave her lungs in a silent gasp, her knuckles whitening as they clung to the armrests.

"…has now spread," the doctor continued, his words deliberate, "to her lungs."

Sarah"s heart raced, a thunderous echo in her chest that threatened to drown out everything else.

"Is there…" Sarah"s voice cracked, and the struggle for composure was etched deeply into her face. "Is there anything we can do besides what we're already doing?"

"We're doing everything we can," he said. "The chemo and the radiation. We're hoping it will eventually turn things around."

"Remission," Sarah whispered, the word a fragile hope that frayed with each shallow breath she drew. "I read… in her old medical journal. It said Victoria was in remission."

The doctor's expression softened, a crease of concern forming between his brows. He leaned forward, hands clasping together as if to gather his thoughts.

"Unfortunately," he began, his voice measured, "that was an error made by one of my colleagues. It set us back for a long time in her treatment." He reached for a stack of journals on his desk, the edges worn from frequent consultation. Flipping through the pages, he stopped at a chart dense with numbers and notes.

"Here," the doctor said, extending the open journal toward her. "You can see the progression…."

Sarah"s gaze locked onto the pages, the stark reality displayed in clinical lines and cold data. The words "chemotherapy" and "metastasis" leaped out at her, branding themselves into her consciousness. She knew about all this, at least most of it, but Steven had kept their daughter's illness much to himself and told her to focus on her career while he took care of it. And whenever she asked about it, he told her not to worry, that he knew what he was doing. He was the one with the medical training, not her. Sarah had been subduing her pain by drinking, and that had made her numb. Now, she could feel it all for the first time in a long while. And it hurt.

"The chemo," the doctor continued, pointing to a series of entries, "it"s keeping her alive, keeping the cancer at bay. But it's not making it smaller, I'm afraid."

"Alive," she echoed, the term both a lifeline and a sentence. Sarah's eyes lingered on the graph, each point a heartbeat, each line a breath stolen from time.

Sarah"s fingers trembled as she closed the journal, the weight of its contents pressing down on her like a physical burden. She looked up at the doctor, searching his face for any sign of reprieve, any sliver of hope that might contradict the grim prognosis laid bare on the pages before her. But his eyes only offered a solemn empathy, a reflection of her own despair. She had been wrong. Steven was right. She had been wrong to doubt him. It was like he always told her: What did she know about medical issues anyway?

"Thank you," she managed to stammer out, her voice a mere wisp in the sterile air of the office. "For… for being honest with us."

"Of course, Sarah," the doctor replied with a nod, his demeanor gentle. His hand reached out, open and waiting, and she placed her own within it—a brief connection, an attempt at comfort in the cold expanse of uncertainty.

The handshake was firm yet considerate, an anchor in the tumult of her emotions. She forced a tight-lipped smile, a social reflex masking the turmoil inside.

A flicker of recognition sparked in her memory as she withdrew her hand. "I"ve seen you before," she said, the thought surfacing unbidden. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she pieced together the image of him outside the professional confines of the clinic.

"I know where. You live on our street, don"t you?"

The doctor's polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second, an imperceptible shift to anyone not scrutinizing as closely as Sarah was at that moment.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he confirmed with a nod, regaining his composure. "Just a few doors down, close to the beach."

"Right," Sarah murmured, a sense of surreal familiarity washing over her. The handsome doctor, whom she had only known in the context of her daughter"s illness, was suddenly cast in the mundane light of neighborhood normalcy. It was an odd thing, one that left her feeling momentarily adrift.

"Small world," she added, though the sentiment felt hollow against the backdrop of their current conversation. A small world, indeed, but one that seemed all too vast when filled with the echoing silence of unanswerable questions about her daughter"s future.

"Big place, then?" Sarah"s voice was light, but her mind churned with the implications of his proximity.

"Quite," the doctor said, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a muted smile that didn"t quite reach his eyes. "The view of the water is rather calming."

"Sarah, we should go." Steven"s hand closed gently on her elbow, a subtle yet firm reminder of their purpose. She glanced at him, reading the urgency in his posture, the slight crease between his brows.

"Of course," she complied, the word barely audible. Her gaze lingered on the doctor, tracing his jawline, searching for something undefinable in his expression.

"Thank you again," she managed, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears.

"Anytime, Mrs. Chapman," the doctor replied, his tone professional yet not without warmth.

Steven led her from the office, the click of the door shutting behind them echoing like a period at the end of a sentence. Their footsteps were muffled against the plush carpet of the hallway.

As they reached the exit, the warm air outside slapped against Sarah"s cheeks, a bracing reminder of reality. She blinked rapidly as if waking from a trance. The world outside the doctor"s office felt different, heavier somehow, laden with truths she couldn"t unlearn.

"Home?" Steven"s question hung between them, filled with everything left unsaid.

"Home," Sarah confirmed, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt within. They moved together toward the car, each lost in their own reflections.