“What’s happening to her?” he growled.
Ignoring him, I pressed the trigger, administering a cloud of medicine into Clara’s mouth. She wheezed, gulping what she could.
But it wasn’t enough.
Hot scalding fear replaced my blood as her little hand clawed at her throat. Her lips turned from blue to indigo.
“Lay her down,” Fox snapped.
“She can’t breathe like that!”
“Just do it!” Fox yanked Clara from me and placed her on her back again. Planting his massive scarred hand over her chest, he pushed down hard. Glaring, he ordered, “Do it again.”
With shaking hands, I placed the inhaler in Clara’s lips and stabbed the plunger. Fox slowly removed the pressure from Clara’s chest, effectively dragging the medicine into her lungs by manual force.
A second ticked past, then another.
“One day, when I grow up, I want to be a doctor, so I can stop people coughing like me.”
The memory came and went so fast, I barely acknowledged it. But my heart died with terror—I couldn’t let her go. No!
I couldn’t stand it. I had to give her another dose. I had to save her.
Then the silence was broken by her spluttering and sucking in greedy lungfuls of oxygen. She lurched off the carpet like a drowning survivor, drinking in air as fast as she could.
I slumped in massive relief, then sucked back tears as a bout of coughing hit, reminding me this time she’d stayed alive. But the next or the next…
Don’t think about it.
All I cared about was that she was alive and breathing again. I needed to stay strong and not focus on the unchangeable future.
Awareness filled Clara’s eyes and tears welled. She reached for me, and I dragged her into my lap. “I don’t like it, mummy. When will it stop?”
My stomach clenched. I sat rocking, peppering her forehead with kisses. “You’re okay. It’s alright. Breathe.”
Clara’s breathing slowly changed from rattling to smooth, and she rested her heavy head on my shoulder. Her body heat comforted me—reminding me I hadn’t lost her yet.
I didn’t know how much time passed as I drowned in memories of her. The joy on her face when I painted our bedroom with purple horses, the way her face screwed up when she sneakily stole a sip wine. Everything about her had been three dimensional animation. And it killed me to watch her fade to crackling black and white.
A lone tear slid down my face as I rocked and stared into the past. I lost track of where I was. I lost track of Fox. All I focused on was my slumbering daughter, balled tight and fragile in my arms.
My arms couldn’t hold her hard enough. I wished all my health and strength could filter into her through osmosis. I cursed God that I couldn’t trade my life for hers. The lump of terror that’d replaced my heart hung heavy and unbeating in my chest.
I jumped a mile when a shadow prowled in front of me. Fox dragged his hands through his hair, pacing with fury that sparked in the gloom around him. “I’ve given you time. I’ve sat here for the past hour watching you rock your sick child to sleep. I told myself to leave. To let you have time together. I’ve told myself I shouldn’t care this much for a child that I’ve only just met. I’ve told myself so many fucking things…”
He stopped and faced me with furious features. “But then I stopped telling myself things and decided I would stay. I decided that no matter what happens, I belong to you and that little girl, and I have the right to know what the hell is going on.”
Pointing at Clara fast asleep in my arms, he growled, “Start speaking. I know there’s something wrong with her, and I know you’ve been keeping it from me. Fuck, Hazel, even the kid knows she’s on limited time, yet you thought you could hide it from me?”
Clara made no move to wake, but I pressed a hand over her ear. “Keep your voice down.”
He scowled. “She’s not going to hear me. Can’t you tell the difference between normal sleep and sleep so deep you wouldn’t hear an atomic bomb explode? No? Well, why would you after your perfect life instead of being a prisoner where every sleep you rested like the dead hoping, praying, that you’d never wake up.”
His anger whipped me until I felt sure I bled from lacerations. He cut my soul just like Clara tore out my heart. “Don’t make me tell you. Not with her in my arms.”
Please.
I knew it was coming. I knew it would happen. I’d tried to prepare, to face the end with strength and even a trace of bittersweet happiness at the thought of her no longer being in pain. But I hadn’t been strong enough.
Sucking in a breath, I muttered, “I’ll tell you, but give me time.”
Keeping his voice low, he whisper-shouted with pent-up rage. “No more time, dobycha. Now. I want answers. Now.”
What could I say? I knew this day would come; I had hoped I could pick the opportunity and circumstance, which was ridiculous considering Clara had so very little time. I had so much to tell him.
Time had run out. For all of us. It wasn’t fair. None of it. A man I loved hated me. A child I adored was leaving me. I just wanted to lie down and indulge in waves of self-pity.
He’ll hate me.
But he deserved to know. I should’ve told him the night he shared his story. That would’ve been the correct thing to do.
I waited for the crushing guilt of keeping it from him, but a chill entered my bloodstream, granting an eerie peace instead. I was numb. Numb to the new life inside me. Numb to what Fox would say.
The only thing that entered my self-imposed numbness was my anger and grief about Clara.
“I’m going to own a horse when I grow up. Lots and lots of them. Including Pegasus.” Clara’s sweet voice ran around my head.
I looked up into his blizzard eyes. It was time for the truth. Time to break Fox’s heart.
He leaned over me, looking menacing and cold. His energy slapped me with seething anger. “Tell me.”
Before I could open my mouth, he stormed away and dragged another hand over his face. “Look, I’m sorry for being so fucking angry, and I want to console you and fucking support you—but you’ve been keeping this from me and I’m pissed.”
Spinning around, he faced me like a black hurricane. “So tell me the truth. What the fuck is wrong with her?”
I tried to stay strong, but angry tears leaked from the corner of my eyes. Making sure my hand was tight across her little ear and her eyes remained closed in sleep, I snarled, “She has PPB.”
“And what the fuck is that?” Fox growled.
Don’t say the C word. Don’t say it. It’ll make it true. Pretend. Forgot.
“It’s short for Pleuropulmonary Blastoma. She’s—”
Fox froze. “Cancer?”
I hung my head, fighting the tears, cursing my wobbling frame. Sucking a deep breath, I spat out the entire truth, the history, the fear, reeling it off as fast as I could. “I told you I bought her the star necklace on her fourth birthday. I couldn’t afford it, but I had to buy it. That was the first day she was admitted to the hospital from a coughing fit. She was so scared. So freaked out. After she was discharged, I would’ve done anything to battle away the terror in her eyes from almost suffocating to death.
“The next time was only a few months later. She’d gone from a healthy toddler to active child who would suddenly collapse in a coughing fit. She was diagnosed with severe asthma. We were given inhalers and oxygen purifiers and told to avoid certain foods. And for a while, it seemed to work.
“A few years went by with the occasional episode and two more journeys to the ER. Clara was a trooper. Never complaining, so strong willed and amazingly happy considering she had an array of tablets and inhalers to take and use every morning.”