the despair that has invaded his defenses. Exhaustion crushes down on me from all sides.
“I understand that you’re scared,” he says. “I know you want to have a good Christmas. And we will. But you need to get the surgery done as soon as possible. Waiting will not make anything go away.”
I feel his tension like a tangible force field between us. He doesn’t move to start the car.
“I want that thing out of you,” he says, his voice controlled but simmering with emotion. “Now. Please don’t wait. We need to know what we’re facing.”
We need to see the enemy.
He doesn’t have to say it. I know my husband. He’s the knight who confronts his enemies directly, who looks them in the eye and proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that he’s the far more powerful one. Then he obliterates them.
But what can he do against an enemy who is so evasive, unpredictable, unknowable? So virulent?
How can he ever protect me? And what can I do to protect him, when it’s my body that is the traitor?
The questions swarm like wasps through my mind, along with all the others I still don’t have answers to.
I pick up my phone again and scroll my contacts. My vision blurs as I see the names of four doctors, the hospital, and the specialty clinic—in between the names of my mom friends, Allie, Kelsey, Florence…
I press the contact number for Dr. Turner’s office. The receptionist picks up, and I tell her to book me for the surgery slot next Monday.
“Okay, Mrs. West, you’re on the schedule,” she says. “Diane will get back to you about the details of the pre-op appointment.”
“Thank you.”
I end the call and toss the phone back into my bag. Dean tightens his fingers on my knee before he turns the key in the ignition. I stare out the window, hating the foreboding that now darkens our lives.
During the surgery, Dr. Turner will remove not only the tumor, but my sentinel lymph node to determine if it contains cancer cells. If it tests positive, he’ll remove more lymph nodes and have them immediately tested to see if the cancer has spread.
The pathology results for both the lymph nodes and the tumor will not only tell us more about my prognosis, but if I need to undergo chemotherapy in addition to radiation.
In other words, the game could change, but there are no rules.
None.
Chapter 22
Olivia
December 18
Get through the surgery.
That’s my next goal. Get through the surgery, come home, and make Christmas as magical as possible for my family. I can still do that, even if I’m recovering. At least I’ll be home.
The night before the surgery, I take off my shirt and bra and look at my breasts in the bathroom mirror, thinking this will be the last time they’ll ever look like this. I touch my nipples, slide my hands beneath my breasts, cup them in my palms.
The bedroom door opens and closes, and Dean appears in the reflection behind me. He leans against the doorjamb of the bathroom, meeting my gaze in the mirror. For once, he doesn’t seem frustrated and upset, only somber. I let my hands fall to my sides.
“They’ll never be the same,” I say, tension tightening my spine.
“Doesn’t matter. You being healthy and well is all that matters.”
Much as I love hearing that, I know this surgery and future treatment will affect him too. How can it not?
“I read in one of the books that some women get professional erotic pictures of themselves taken before breast surgery,” I say. “Maybe I should have done that. As a way for us to remember what I looked like.”
“Baby, we don’t need to remember what you looked like.” Dean puts his hands on my shoulders. “We know what you look like.”
“But I’ll be scarred, distorted—”
“No.” He tightens his hands on my shoulders, his eyes fixing on mine in the mirror. “You will not be scarred and distorted. Your left breast will have a surgery scar, and its shape will be different. But your breasts will still be yours, and you will still be you.”
I look at my naked breasts. I’d been ashamed of my body when I was young, hating both repulsive male attention and my mother’s accusations that I was the one at fault. Then I hated myself for believing her.
But oh, how all of that had fallen away when Dean walked into my life and showed me that a man and a woman together—the right man and