Page 1 of Letters of Faith
Chapter 1
Georgia
14 Months Ago
My heart thunders in my ears. There’s noise around me, but it’s muffled like I’m underwater. Someone is trying to talk to me, but I can’t focus on processing the words when five are already stuck in my brain, refusing to move.
“There’s nothing we can do.”
Those words keep bouncing around in my mind, inflicting pain each time they hit. I need to process them because once I do, we can devise a plan.
Yeah, that’s what I need—a plan. A plan can fix anything because I refuse to accept that nothing is left. There has to be something. God works miracles all the time. He can do that here, too.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing more we can do for your husband.” The doctor’s voice is raw, laden with the emotion he’s trying to hold back. It’s a good thing, too, because there isn’t room for another person’s breakdown here.
I’m losing my mind—that has to be what’s happening. I’ve gone too many nights without sleep, and now I’m hallucinating, living my worst nightmare.
Looking up, I see the doctor’s face filled with the same emotion as his voice, and I know I’m not hallucinating. This is my real-lifenightmare.
Pity sparkles in his eyes as concern wrinkles his brow.
I can handle a lot of emotions, but pity and hopelessness are not two of them.
Fire burns through my veins.
I don’t want his pity. I want him to help my husband. I want him to take away the cancer that’s ravaging the fit and healthy man I love. I want a lot of things. I don’t want pity. Pity is for those who have given up, and I refuse to give up. If this man won’t help, I will find another doctor who will.
Nate is too good of a man to be gone from this world. He has to stay.
Ineedhim to stay.
Sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, my hands shake as I pick up my phone, intent on finding another oncologist within this city…or country…or world, for that matter. This time, it will be someone who won’t give up on us so easily.
Before my thumb can make it across my screen to unlock my phone, fragile fingers circle my wrist.
I stare at them a moment, remembering how they used to look so muscular and defined from years of physical labor. Now, the skin sags from radiation and chemotherapy. The bones beneath are visible, moving as the grip on my wrist tightens a little more and squeezes just enough that I know he is trying to comfort me.
Guilt hits me square in the chest.
I should be comforting him, not the other way around.
The pressure of his hand stays, and I know he wants me to look up. If I do, though, I will lose it. I’m barely holding on.
His hand travels down to my fingers, and a light tug is all it takes for me to relent. I drag my eyes up from his hands to his forearms and over his bicep, taking my time as I make my way up to his face. Every time I look at him now, I have to steel myself. Fear takes over whenever I see his sunken cheeks and the blackness beneath his eyes.
Nate’s always been able to read me, but I don’t want him to take on the burden of my fear.
I need him to focus on getting better.
One more inch and our eyes meet. The steely gray of his is enough to break me. They used to be so vibrant and full of life, but now they are dull and tired.
I lay my head on his chest, hiding the shimmer in my eyes from him, but he sees me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me when I should be holding him.
“Georgia, I’m tired.”
The tears slip from my eyes, down my cheeks, and soak into his t-shirt, making it impossible to hide now. A sob croaks out of my throat—raw and unbidden.
I know what he’s trying to tell me, but I can’t accept it. I don’t know how to live life without him. We had so many plans. We were going to buy a farm and start a family. He’s only thirty. He can’t leave me.
