Jane, the treatment isn’t working.
I heard it three months after I met Harper. We met in the oncology department. She was shaking from the drugs, and I handed her a blanket. He thanked me and asked if he could sit closer. We talked throughout the session. After that day, we continued to choose each other without saying it out loud.
We synchronized our chemo days. We ate lunch in the courtyard on the days we could walk. We held hands during blood draws. When my hair started falling out, Harper brought a razor and shaved hers too. He told me he didn’t want me to do any part of this alone. We weren’t a couple yet, but everyone could see where we were going.
After three months, the doctor said my treatment wasn’t working. My chest tightened. Harper didn’t let go of my hand. Later that night, he told me he wanted to marry me now, while we still had time to do something good.
We planned a small church wedding in seven days. Simple clothes. Close friends. Some nurses who saw us fall in love. I was tired, and Harper looked pale, but neither of us cared.
