"I'm sorry, Char," he whispered, choking on the words. "I'm so sorry."
She didn't cry at first. She just stared, still trying to make sense of it all, her mind slowly wrapping around the reality she never wanted to face. But then, her lip quivered, and the tears began to spill.
"I don't want to die, Charles," she sobbed, turning her face toward him, her voice breaking apart with the weight of her fear. "I'm not ready."
His chest constricted, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close, feeling the frailty of her body against him. "I know," he whispered into her hair. "I know, Char. I'm not ready either."
For what felt like forever, they stayed like that, clinging to each other in the quiet of the hospital room, as the cruel truth settled between them. Two months. Two short months.
