Chapter 4
The first week was the hardest.
I took two weeks off work, using up every sick day and vacation day I had.
My boss wasn’t happy.
I didn’t care.
Maya had chemo every three days.
The first treatment left her bedridden for 48 hours.
Nausea so bad she could barely keep water down.
Her hair fell out in clumps on the pillow, in the shower, on her brush.
She cried when she saw it.
Tried to hide the clumps under the trash can liner.
I found them anyway.
Said nothing.
Just bought her a soft, pink knit hat.
Put it on her head gentle, and told her she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She rolled her eyes.
But she wore it every day.
We fell into a rhythm.
I woke up at 5 a.m. to make her breakfast—soft eggs, toast, fruit, anything she could keep down.
Gave her meds on schedule.
Sat with her through the chills and the fevers.
Read to her when she was too tired to talk.
Old memories started to creep in.
Small things.
The way she hummed off-key when she made coffee.
The way she scrunched her nose when she didn’t like something.
The way she reached for my hand in her sleep, just like she used to.
One night, she woke up screaming.
I ran from the couch where I’d been sleeping.
Found her thrashing in the bed, sweat soaking the sheets.
“Maya! Hey, it’s me. It’s Arjun. You’re safe.”
I grabbed her shoulders.
Shook her gentle until her eyes flew open.
She stared at me, wild, gasping for air.
Then she collapsed into my arms.
“They were there,” she sobbed.
“Mom and Priya. They were yelling at me. Saying I deserved to die. That the baby’s deaths were my fault.”
I held her tight.
Rocked her back and forth, like a child.
“They’re wrong,” I said, over and over.
“They’re wrong. None of this is your fault. The miscarriages. The cancer. None of it. You hear me? None of it.”
She cried until she had no tears left.
Then she looked up at me.
Eyes dark in the dim lamplight.
“Did you ever think that?” she whispered.
“That the miscarriages were my fault?”
I froze.
For a second, the guilt came rushing back.
The quiet thoughts I’d had in the dark, stupid, angry thoughts I’d never said out loud.
I’d never blamed her.
But I’d blamed the situation.
I’d run from it.
And that was just as bad.
“Never,” I said, honest.
“I never thought it was your fault. I was just… scared. Scared I couldn’t fix it. Scared I’d never be the husband you deserved. So I ran. And I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
She touched my face.
Her palm was warm now, the fever breaking.
“I was scared too,” she said.
“I thought if I told you how bad it hurt, you’d leave. And then when you did leave… I thought I’d never be happy again.”
I leaned down.
Pressed my forehead to hers.
“You’re never getting rid of me again,” I said.
“Not ever. We’re going to beat this. Then we’re going to get back everything we lost. Okay?”
She smiled.
A small, real smile.
The first one I’d seen in months.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Three days later, the fever came back.
Worse this time.
104 degrees.
Maya was delirious, muttering in Hindi, calling for her dad who’d died when she was 16.
I called an ambulance.
Rode with her to the hospital, holding her hand the whole way, begging her to stay with me.
Dr. Fischer met us at the ER.
Rushed her into a room.
Started IV antibiotics.
“Neutropenic fever,” she told me, an hour later.
“Her white blood cells are almost zero. The infection spread fast. We caught it just in time. Another hour… it could’ve been bad.”
I sat on the floor outside Maya’s room.
Head in my hands.
And for the first time since this all started, I cried.
Hard, ugly sobs that shook my whole body.
I almost lost her.
I almost lost her again, because I’d been too stupid to see how sick she was.
Rohit showed up an hour later.
Brought coffee, food, didn’t say a word.
Just sat on the floor next to me.
Put an arm around my shoulder.
Let me cry.
When I finally stopped, he handed me a napkin.
“Doc says she’s gonna be okay?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. She’s tough.”
Rohit nodded.
“Then you’re gonna be okay too. Whatever you need. I’m here.”
I looked through the window into Maya’s room.
She was asleep.
Pale, but breathing steady.
I stood up.
Wiped my face.
“I’m gonna go in,” I said.
“Stay with her.”
Rohit clapped me on the back.
“Call me if you need anything. Anything.”
I walked into the room.
Sat in the hard plastic chair beside her bed.
Took her hand.
Kissed her knuckles.
“Fight, Maya,” I whispered.
“Please. Just keep fighting. I need you.”
Somewhere in her sleep, she squeezed my hand.
Tight.
May you like
Like she heard me.
Like she was promising she wouldn’t leave.
