Chapter 104 CHAPTER 104

Chapter 104 CHAPTER 104
Gabriel Morgan

Six months have passed since that nightmare.

Since the day I saw Ethan slip into a coma, since the moment his heart stopped and I truly thought, for real, that I would lose him forever. It is still hard to remember without feeling my chest tighten, but today I can breathe when I think about it. Because, despite everything, things are moving forward.

Thank God, they are moving forward well.

Ethan continues treatment. The chemotherapy hasn't ended, but it changed. Now it happens every fifteen days, in a more careful rhythm, more respectful of his body.

There is still fatigue, there are still difficult days, but nothing compares to what we faced before. There is no longer that intense suffering, that exhaustion that consumed him completely.

Seeing this is a silent victory.

He lost weight, yes. His body changed; it carries marks of everything he went through. But on the other hand, his hair grew back. It's fuller, more alive. And along with it, something returned that I thought I might never see again: light in his eyes.

Ethan seems more present in his own body.

More whole.

More alive.

The tests remain frequent. Each appointment comes heavy with tension, that weighty silence before the doctor speaks. And every time, the same phrase repeats itself—simple, direct, almost unbelievable.

The cancer continues to regress.

They never speak of stages. They never use definitive words. They just say it is regressing. And I see the surprise stamped on his face, that mixture of hope and incredulity. I know that for medicine, this borders on the impossible.

But I know what it is.

I know God heard us.

I give thanks every day for this second chance.

For still being able to wake up beside the man I love.

For still having time.

For still having a future.

During these months, I made it a point not to let his life revolve only around the disease. Whenever his body allows, I take Ethan out. A simple dinner. A short walk. A coffee near the sea. Anything to make him remember that he is much more than a diagnosis.

I don't want him living his life counting days of treatment. I want him counting moments.

And between one chemotherapy session and another, we started talking about our wedding. About what we want, about the day, about the ceremony.

Small details that, to me, mean everything. I am anxious. More than ever. Not just to get married, but to live by his side, officially, without fear of tomorrow.

I also noticed something that fills me with pride.

Ethan changed.

He doesn't keep anything to himself anymore.

He doesn't stay silent.

He doesn't try to be strong alone.

When something hurts, he speaks up.

When he is afraid, he shares it with me. He kept the promise he made. And that… that is huge.

I won't hide that it hurt me in the past. It hurt to know that he sacrificed himself in silence, that he lied thinking he was protecting me. But seeing this transformation now, seeing this trust, this surrender, heals wounds that I didn't even know how to explain.

The man who is by my side today carries marks, yes. But he also carries life. With each passing day, each week, each month, my love for him grows in a way that is almost frightening.

Because after almost losing him… all that is left is to love with even more intensity.

A sudden touch of lips against mine jolts me from my memories. Blinking is inevitable. Reality returns along with Ethan's laugh, light and amused.

"Love…" he says, still smiling. "I called you several times, and you're still daydreaming. Come on, it's time."

I am pulled by the hand, and only then do I realize where we are.

The hospital.

The chemotherapy room.

I got too trapped in the past without noticing the present catching up to us.

We walk together down the hallway to the familiar room. As always, Ethan sits in the chair, settling in calmly. The nurse approaches shortly after and prepares the IV line with the same tranquility as always.

"You already know… any discomfort…"

"I'll let you know," he interrupts her, smiling.

She laughs, satisfied, and steps away, leaving us alone.

I hold his hand, our fingers intertwined. My gaze naturally drops to the ring. When I lift my face, I find that smile that makes everything around lose its importance.

"Giant baby."

"Hey."

"Let's organize our wedding. We've talked so much about what we want…" He takes a short pause, still smiling. "I want to marry you as fast as possible."

The smile opens without asking permission. I bring his hand to my lips and kiss his fingers with affection.

"With pleasure. As soon as you're feeling better, we'll look for a place on the beach. See everything: the ceremony, guests, cake… everything."

He laughs at the excitement.

"I can barely wait."

And truly, I can't either. He manages to make me love him even more every day.

As I had said before, there was weight loss, yes, but now the recovery is visible. I know that when we get married, he will gain weight again.

I'm going to take care of that.

I'm going to take care of him.

Just as he also takes care of me.

I want to have him in my bed. Sleeping in my room. Living right there with me.

During this time, his parents allowed us to alternate weeks: one at my house, another at theirs. This only made us realize how accustomed we became to waking up together. Bathing together. Sitting him on my lap. Feeding him. Being fed by him.

A laugh escapes without warning, catching his attention.

"What is it?"

I laugh again.

"I just remembered my mother catching us that day… Remember? You feeding me and me returning the gesture."

He begins to laugh, and the sound ends up pulling me along.

"Your mother is a sweetheart," he comments, still laughing. "But she needs to stop appearing like a wizard. And she still has the nerve to say she's going to throw up rainbows because of how sweet we are."

The laughter comes much too loudly. I try to contain myself, but it's too late. He relaxes in the chair, still smiling, and time passes almost without us noticing.

When the procedure ends, the nurse returns accompanied by the doctor. The IV line is removed carefully.

"Are you feeling anything, Ethan?" the doctor asks.

The question catches me by surprise. A chill runs through my stomach in the exact same instant.

Did something go wrong?

I turn my gaze to the doctor, anxiety tightening my chest. He observes Ethan for a few seconds and sketches a slight, calm smile.

"Just the usual fatigue," Ethan answers. "Other than that, I'm fine."

"I see."

I see Ethan swallow hard before asking, his voice low, heavy with fear.

"Why the question, doctor? Is there a problem?"

The doctor doesn't answer right away. He lowers his gaze to the papers in his hands, adjusts the sheets carefully, and returns his attention to the tests, analyzing every detail with a calmness that leaves me in desperation.

My heart races in my chest.

"Are you feeling anything else, Ethan?" he questions. "Nausea, dizziness, pain?"

"Just fatigue and sleepiness. Nothing beyond that."

The doctor nods, satisfied. I move closer and hold Ethan as he stands up carefully from the chair, feeling his still-fragile body against mine.

Then the doctor takes a deep breath.

"Right," he says in a serene tone. "Based on the tests and your body's response to the treatment, we are doing very well."

My chest tightens.

"Jesus."

"We are keeping the protocol," he continues. "The next chemotherapy session will be your last."

The words take a few seconds to make sense.

I see Ethan's eyes widen along with mine.

"The… last?" he murmurs, unable to hide the shock.

The doctor smiles sincerely.

"Yes. After everything you faced over the last few months, I can say, with great joy as your doctor over these past two years, that you are one step away from closing this stage."

We stand motionless.