Chapter 105 CHAPTER 105

Chapter 105 CHAPTER 105
Gabriel Morgan

I feel the air escape my lungs, as if I had forgotten for months how to breathe. My eyes burn, misty, as I watch Ethan trying to process it.

A step.

That word echoes inside me with force, mixing relief, fear, and a hope that I had almost forgotten how to feel.

His legs fail before he can react. I see Ethan crouch right there, bringing his hands to his face, and the crying comes strong, uncontrolled, as if everything had been trapped inside him for far too long.

His body trembles. His breath comes in jolts.

"Ethan…" I call, my voice faltering, but not from fear.

I laugh.

I laugh in a way that even I didn't remember existed.

In the next instant, my hands reach him, and before he can protest, I pull him up and pick him up in my arms.

He lets out a surprised sound, still crying, while I spin him in the air, laughing out loud, almost euphoric.

"You did it!" I shout, my voice taken by a joy that I don't know how to contain. "Love, you did it!"

His laughter mixes with the crying. The tears flow without control as he clings to me.

"Calm down, calm down," the doctor intervenes with a half-smile. "He just came out of chemotherapy."

I stop in the exact same instant. I place Ethan on the ground with all the care in the world, still laughing, running my hands over my face.

"I'm sorry, doctor," I say, unable to contain the happiness. "I'm sorry… it's just…"

I can't finish. I just lean in and wipe Ethan's tears with my thumbs, slowly.

"I told you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "I told you that you were going to win."

Ethan throws himself against me, wrapping his arms around my neck tightly. He cries against my shoulder, and I hug him back firmly.

One hand on his back, the other holding his head.

Little by little, he takes a deep breath and pulls away, still trembling. I see Ethan turn to the doctor, his throat visibly burning.

"Thank you," he says, his voice weak but sincere. "Thank you for everything. For not giving up on me… even when I almost gave up."

The doctor smiles, with a serene pride in his gaze.

"You did the hardest part, Ethan. We just kept walking by your side."

Before I can understand, Ethan runs over and hugs the doctor tightly.

"I know this is totally outside of ethics," he says between laughter and tears. "But I needed to do this. Thank you… thank you for not letting go of my hand at any moment."

The doctor hesitates for a second, surprised, then returns the hug carefully, giving him two light pats on his back.

"I'll pretend I didn't see anything," he jokes, laughing. "But I'm very happy for you, Ethan."

He pulls away, wiping his face in a hurry.

"I promise that after the last chemo you will never see me around here again. I hope I never need to sit in that chair again."

The doctor crosses his arms, laughing.

"Ah, that's not going to happen. You will keep coming. Appointments, routine exams, follow-ups… everything properly."

Ethan pouts immediately, crossing his arms.

"Damn…"

I can't help myself and burst into laughter, placing my arm around his shoulders.

"See?" I say, laughing. "Not even totally cured do you get rid of him."

The doctor laughs along, shaking his head.

"That is the best kind of complaint there is. The kind from someone who has a future."

The laughter still echoes in the room.

We say goodbye to the doctor with a few more thanks, promises of return, and smiles that I never imagined seeing in that room. I shake his hand firmly and sincerely before leaving the room with Ethan by my side.

As soon as we step into the hallway, he lets go of my hand and begins to walk—no, almost skip—across the bright hospital floor. Small hops, low laughter, like a child who just won the best present in the world.

I stop for a second just to watch.

My chest fills with a silent pride.

My boy is alive.

I smile to myself, happy in a way that actually hurts.

But reality catches up to me quickly.

"Hey," I call, approaching. "No overexerting yourself, my love. You just came out of chemotherapy."

Before he answers, I pick him up in my arms, firmly, feeling the familiar weight against my body. Ethan just laughs, light and excited, and wraps his arms around my neck.

"Nothing in this world is going to make me hold back," he says, filling my face with hurried kisses. "I'm cured, love. I'm cured."

The word pierces through me like a direct blow to the chest.

"Cured."

It's no longer a maybe.

It's not a fragile hope.

It's not a medical promise or a number on a test.

It's real.

My boy is cured.

I feel something inside me yield all at once, as if I had spent months holding my breath without realizing it. The weight I carried on my shoulders finally falls away, and for a second my legs almost fail.

He cries again, without trying to contain it—a happy, clean, liberating cry. And I cry along without any shame. The tears run hot, mixed with his, because now I can. Because now I no longer need to be strong all the time.

I squeeze Ethan against me, as if I wanted to engrave that instant into my body.

Life won.

We won.

I bring my face close to his and pull him into a slow kiss, heavy with everything we traversed together. When I pull back, I rest our foreheads together, sharing the same breath, trying to believe that this instant won't disappear if I blink.

"I love you," I speak, my voice trembling but true.

And for the first time in a long time, these words don't come accompanied by the fear of losing.

Just love.

Just a future.

The smile he gives me back is the most beautiful I have ever seen.

"I love you more," he says, taking a deep breath. "I'm crazy to tell my parents."

"I am too," I reply, taken by the same good anxiety.

I carry Ethan to the hospital exit without letting go of him at any moment. I open the car door carefully and settle him into the passenger seat, like I always do. I adjust the seatbelt over his chest and check if he is comfortable.

"Ready."

I walk around, get into the driver's seat, and turn the key. The engine awakens, and I drive toward his house.

Halfway there, I reduce the speed and pull into a market parking lot.

"Why are we stopping here, love?" he asks, looking around, confused.

I smile from the corner of my mouth.

"We are going to buy champagne to celebrate this victory. And a juice for you."

His mouth opens, visibly shocked.

"Hey!"

I let out a short laugh.

"I'm sorry, but no champagne yet."

The smile that emerges on his lips is restrained.

"Right."

I step out first and walk around the car, opening the door for him. I hold his waist carefully, and we walk inside together. My excitement is so great that I can barely contain my hurried pace.

We head to the beverage section. I grab the most expensive champagne, and the best one I know.

"Are you sure about this? It's expensive."

I roll my eyes.

"Love, nothing matters more than knowing you are cured. We are going to celebrate, toast, and cry, if necessary."

He laughs.

"Should I bring tissues?"

"Stop that," I say, kissing his hair. "Just come on."

After grabbing the juice he wanted, we head to the register. I pay for everything, and we return to the car. I drive calmly until we reach his house.

"When you tell them, do you prefer that I open the champagne afterward… or do I just arrive opening it and scaring everyone?"

He laughs out loud, and the sound makes my chest warm up.

"You're going to end up giving my parents a heart attack. Open it only after I speak."

I nod.