Chapter 92 Stubborn Independence
In my head, the math of grief is simple and cruel....the higher she is now, the further she has to fall. This news will shatter her even more because of the contrast. It will hit ten times harder while she’s planning trips and feeling young than it would if she were already braced for the world’s bitterness. Sad news always seems crueler when someone is happy. Like dropping a stone into calm water just to watch the ripples spread.
Maybe it would land softer if she were already having a bad day.
Maybe it would hurt less if the emotional ground was already uneven.
But that thought doesn’t survive very long. Because it’s been weeks. And the truth is, this isn’t information that belongs only to me. They have a right to know, even if it hurts them. Even if it changes the shape of their world.
“Mum?” My voice comes out thinner than I expect. A little uneven. There’s a small pause on the other end.
“Yeah?”
And suddenly all I can think about is how much she’s spent my entire life worrying about me. Not because I was a troublemaker, but because of my independence. That fierce, stubborn need to handle everything alone, to never lean, never trouble, never rely. She knew I had no friends to call, even if we never spoke about the silence on my end of the line. She knows how I carry things. And now, I’m about to hand her a burden she can’t fix. I can already imagine the thoughts that will start racing through her mind the moment I say the words.
I sniff quietly, trying to push back the tightness in my throat. But the emotion doesn’t cooperate.
Her concern creeps in. “What’s wrong?”she asks, her voice shifting slightly. Michael squeezes my knee, then moves both of his hands to cover mine, anchoring me to the chair so I don’t dissolve. I cling to the warmth of his skin, drawing a shaky breath.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say quietly. “Both of you."
“What is it?” she asks, her voice is cautious now.
“Ryan, is it something bad? What happened?”
Most of the time when someone asks if it's something bad, they’re hoping for reassurance. Hoping you’ll immediately say no. Hoping the answer will make the fear disappear. But I can’t give her that right now.
“I... um,” I swallow again. “I went to the hospital a while back.”
There’s immediate concern in her voice.
“Why? What for?”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I say. The words feel small compared to the truth behind them. The line goes quiet. I can hear her breathing on the other end, growing shallow.
"Ryan?" she whispers.
"They ran some tests," I say, my voice cracking wide open. "And they came back... they weren't good, Mum. I've been diagnosed with something called T-MDS. It’s... it’s a form of blood cancer. From the bone marrow." I take a slow breath, then add, as if to lessen the blow....“But they’re treating it.”
She falls completely silent. And for the first time in my life, I realize that my independence has finally failed me. I can't carry this alone.
The silence on the other end doesn't last, there's a sharp inhale.... then my mum starts crying. “But....how could this happen?” she asks through the tears. “Ryan, how could this happen? Especially after last time...”
I know exactly what she’s thinking. The first battle. The time we spent looking at scans and holding our breath until we finally thought the coast was clear.
"It’s actually related," I say quietly. My voice feels fragile, like it might crack if I push it too far. "The treatment from back then, the chemo and radiation, it’s what caused this."
“My God,” she whispers. Another soft cry escapes her. “Oh, honey.” There’s a frantic quality to her voice now, the sound of a mother trying to build a fortress out of thin air. "What are the doctors saying? How bad is it? You pulled through last time, Ryan. I know....I’m sure you’ll do the same this time, everything's gonna be okay."
My mind flashes back to the doctor’s office earlier today.
Your counts aren’t where we hoped they’d be.
I can’t tell her that, not right now. “They’re still running tests,” I say instead. “They’re monitoring everything.” I swallow, “I’ve started chemo.”
“Oh God,” she breathes. The crying grows quieter for a moment. Then something in her tone shifts. “Ryan,” she says. There’s more weight in my name this time. More hurt. “Why do you always do this?”
I blink.
“Why do you insist on staying silent when you’re hurting?” she asks, her voice breaking again. “We’re your parents. You should’ve called when you found out.”
The words land heavily, because she isn’t wrong.
"I know," I whisper, closing my eyes tight. "I know."
I sniffle back a cry, my sleeve catching the tears as I try to wipe them away before they can choke me. "I'm sorry."
I hear her take a long, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. "Okay. Okay. I’m going to call your father. We’ll find a flight. You shouldn't be alone right now–"
"I'm not alone," I blurt out, the words escaping before I can process them. A little defensive. "I've got..."
I stop. The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished and heavy. I turn my head slightly to look at Michael. He’s still right there, his eyes never leaving mine. My mind stalls. How do I define him? He’s the man who knows the exact shade of my fear. The man I've already said ‘I love you’ to, but we haven't given it a name yet.
"Got who?" she asks, her voice thick with both doubt and confusion.
"There's... there's someone here," I say vaguely.
Michael watches me, his expression unreadable for a split second before his features soften into something determined. He lets go of my hand, but the loss of contact is only momentary. He reaches out gently, his palm open, and raises a brow as he gestures toward the phone in my hand.
I stare at him, caught off guard. My heart hammers against my ribs. I have no idea what he’s planning to say, how he’s going to explain himself to a woman who didn't even know he existed until three seconds ago. I hesitate, the phone trembling near my ear, but there is something so steady in his gaze that I find myself handing it over.
I let go of the device, Michael rises slowly to his feet with it in his hand. I watch him the whole time.
My heart is thudding so loudly in my chest that it almost drowns out everything else. There’s something surreal about this moment, something that feels quietly monumental. A realization creeping in slowly, settling deep in my bones.
This is the first time either of my parents has spoken to someone close to me. Someone who actually matters. Someone who’s here.
Michael lifts the phone to his ear.
“Hello, Mrs. Ashbrook,” he says politely.
I can’t hear my mum's voice from here, but I can imagine the confusion on her face. The slight crease between her brows. The cautious curiosity. Michael glances at me briefly before continuing.
“My name’s Michael.” Another small pause. Then he turns his head slightly toward me and says, carefully, “Ryan’s boyfriend.” My breath catches.