Brian gives me a safe place to express all of my thoughts and fears, because he understands. He gets it on a level that no matter how much Adam loves and cares for me, he simply cannot, because he’s not sitting where we are. Maybe that’s why I came to Brian; because I knew he’d get it.

He understands perfectly what I mean when I say I’ve already accepted myself once, and I don’t think I can do it again, because he’s been there, and he can’t imagine doing it all over again either. And he understands the fear and uncertainty of cancer because, though his situation was different, he’s been there too.

“I’ve done everything I could possibly do to stay healthy,” I say, my voice still thick with emotion, though I’m no longer crying, and I can hear my frustration starting to bleed through now as well. “I don’t understand. How did this happen?”

“The same way it happened to me,” Brian says, shrugging. We’ve moved to the couch in his private office, and he’s poured me a glass of whiskey, which ordinarily I would have refused because I hardly ever drink, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Shit happens.”

I lean my head back and close my eyes, then take another sip of the whiskey, which really has done what Brian said it would. It’s calming my nerves and helping slow the constant churning of thoughts and worries and emotions that have been running through my brain ever since the doctor told me my problems were being caused by a tumor. I know I can’t go back to work now anyhow -- I’m too upset and I’d be far too distracted -- though I’m sure my phone will be ringing any minute now with someone wondering why I’m not back yet. All I’d said was that I had an appointment. It was the truth -- how was I to know that said appointment was going to turn my entire life upside down?

But that’s how life works. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. And today, mine has.

“What if I lose my job?” I sigh. “I’m probably going to have to take a lot of time off.”

“They can’t fire you for that. You could sue their asses. And I’ll help you fucking do it.”

I can’t help but laugh, because that’s absolutely the most Brian-like thing he could have said in that moment, and I open my eyes to see him giving me that smirk he’s so good at. But then his expression turns serious again.

“But you can always come work for me,” he says. “My offer still stands.”

“And what if I come out of this surgery and I can only shrug my shoulders? Or what if I can’t even do that? What if I can’t breathe on my own? What if something happens? A spinal stroke, or worse?”

Now it’s his turn to sigh. “Rob, you don’t even know that any of that is going to happen. And it’s probably not going to.”

“But what if it does? I don’t want charity.”

“It wouldn’t be charity. You’re good at what you do, and I’d love to have you on my team. As long as your brain still works, I don’t see that changing. You don’t need arms to come up with an ad campaign.”

I don’t argue with him any further, but somewhere in the back of my mind there’s another catastrophizing thought that tells me even that isn’t a guarantee.

We’re still just sitting there, talking, when my phone rings, and I have to try to not sound slightly drunk when I tell John that I got held up at my appointment and I don’t think I’m going to make it back in -- that I’ll see him tomorrow. At least the whiskey makes me not care when I hear the obvious exasperation in his response.

“I guess I have to go home and tell Adam now, huh?” I say, after I hang up the phone and slide it back in my pocket. I take a breath and let it out very slowly, trying to breathe out the tension and anxiety I’m feeling along with it, but it’s not working.

“Let him support you,” Brian says, as he finishes the last of the amber liquid in his own glass. “Trust me, trying to go through this shit on your own sucks.”

I nod, not that I was ever considering not telling Adam, but I do know what it’s like to feel like you’re dealing with something entirely on your own, and how difficult and isolating that is, because that’s how I felt when I was first injured. I need to not let that happen here, and I know that.

I take the subway back home, just like I always do, but for the first time I’m actually glad it’s a long ride, instead of being frustrated by it like I normally am. It’s not that I don’t want to go home and be with my family -- I do. It’s that I don’t know how to say what I have to say to my husband when I get there.

I arrive at our building and go up to our floor, where I end up sitting outside the door for at least a couple of minutes, trying to work up the courage to unlock the door and go through it. Eventually, I do, and I see Adam sitting at the dining room table with Sophia, playing a board game. Esme’s nowhere to be seen, but that’s not unusual -- she seems to spend most of her time in her bedroom lately, drawing or dabbling with the paint set Justin gave her not long ago.

Adam looks up at me, surprised, and says, “Hey, you’re home early.” Then once he truly looks at me, his expression changes. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I try my best to paste a smile on my face for Sophia, who launches herself at me and gives me a hug and a kiss and makes it incredibly difficult to push my emotions back down, because I love her so goddamned much and I can’t imagine not being able to hug her back. Luckily, Sophia doesn’t seem to realize anything is amiss. She goes back to the game, urging me to join them, but I don’t think I can keep it together for long enough to do that, as much as I’d love to.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” I say, cursing the way my voice breaks just a little on the last word. “Papa’s really tired. I’m sorry.” And I am, but I also need to get out of that room before I break down, so I don’t say anything else before I turn and go straight to our bedroom, where I barely manage to get the door closed before I lose control over my emotions. Somehow, seeing Sophia’s face and feeling her arms around me made me realize just how much I stand to lose, and it makes me wonder how I’ll get through what’s to come.

I’m gasping for breath and trying to be as quiet as possible when I hear the doorknob click and I see Adam out of the corner of my eye, coming into the room. He closes the door behind him and comes over to me, then sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward so he can take both of my hands in his.

“What’s wrong?” he says softly.

I want to answer his question, but I still don’t know where to begin, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

“You’re scaring me,” he says, his voice barely audible, and I can hear that he’s on the verge of tears now too. “Tell me, please. What is it?”

I wish I’d at least told him I was going back to the doctor, so I wouldn’t feel as much like I’m blindsiding him with this news -- at least then, he’d be expecting something. To Adam, this is totally out of the blue, and that’s no one’s fault but my own. I can’t turn back the clock and undo it, so I have to find a way to tell him the whole story, from beginning to end.

“I went to the doctor again,” I whisper, figuring that’s as good a place to start as any.

Adam just looks at me, waiting for me to continue, but I can see the trepidation in his eyes.

I take another deep breath and try to steel my resolve to get through the rest of this without breaking down, but I don’t know how effective it’s going to be. “My hand wasn’t getting any better, so, I figured I should.” I leave out the part where Brian basically told me to go, perhaps out of guilt that I’ve already told him about the rest of this and I’m still struggling to tell my partner.

“I wish you would have told me.” Adam’s fingers tighten around mine. “I would have gone with you.”

I nod and look down, unable to look my husband in the eye because I know he would have gone with me, but I was too much of a coward to admit that something still wasn’t right. “They found something this time,” I say, still looking down. “There’s a tumor on my spine. It might be cancer.”

When I can finally bring myself to look up at Adam, the tears that were already in his eyes have started to fall. I didn’t think I could feel any more awful for going and doing this without him, but now I do, because I can see the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the tears welling up again in my own eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Adam doesn’t say anything, he just scoots closer to me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me in close to his body. I can feel his fingertips digging into my shoulder as he holds me tightly, and we cry together.

We take as long as we can alone in the bedroom, and I wonder what Adam told Sophia that’s made her stay out of the room for this long, but I can’t worry too much about it -- all that matters is that it worked. We needed this time together -- I needed this time with him more than anything. I won’t say that I necessarily feel better, because I’m not sure how possible that is at this point, but I do kind of feel like a weight has been lifted. I’m glad we’re on the same page now, because I hadn’t realized just how much it was hurting me to try to keep this from him.

I still don’t know what to tell the girls, but Adam tells me not to worry about that right now -- that we have time, and we can do it together. He goes in the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and I do the same, then we go back out together to our family. Sophia is sitting in the living room floor, playing with her dolls, and I help Adam make dinner, relishing the normalcy of the scene, trying to stay present -- just taking it all in and truly appreciating it. Esme joins us a few minutes later, showing Adam and I the drawing she’s been working on, and I’m blown away by the pure, natural talent she seems to possess, and I’m thankful to have met Justin, who has nurtured her love of art and helped her hone her gifts. I not only have an amazing husband; I have amazing friends as well, and I’m grateful for all of them. I need to keep reminding myself of that.

My fears and worries haven’t gone away, and keeping them from showing is a bit of a struggle at times, but I make it through dinner and all the way to shower and bed before everything starts to get the best of me again. Adam is able to calm me down, though -- pressing his forehead against mine in the darkness and softly reaffirming how much he loves me and promising me that we’ll get through this together, no matter what comes. But as the tears well up in my eyes and slide silently down my cheeks to the pillow, my fears and doubts still overshadow his words, and I wonder just how far he’s prepared to take his promise.