Page 67 of Don't Forget Me
Liz had known something was wrong for days, but she couldn’t tell Nick.
Time was running out, and her body knew it. The strength she’d felt since coming to this place waned, leaving her tired most of the time.
She slept late, took lots of naps, and stopped cooking every meal—something Nick made no comment about as he poured cereal for them again after she’d banned him from attempting to make any food that required the oven or stove.
Two grown adults lying on the couch with bowls of cereal in their laps. It was a sight. And not even healthy cereal, this was the rot-your-teeth sugary stuff with little marshmallows she’d eaten as a kid.
Nick could sense something was wrong. She saw it in every glance he sent her way, but Liz had never been one to complain about not feeling well.
It was just life.
And she didn’t want him to worry.
Snuggled in next to him, she could almost forget the fear brought on by the exhaustion, the fear because she knew what the return of these symptoms meant.
Cancer.
Was it back? Was her body in the real world succumbing to illness once again?
The real world was returning to her, and she wasn’t ready. No matter how much she missed her family, returning to that life, the possibility of her cancer coming back yet again, terrified her. All she wanted to do was cling to Nick and never let go.
But she couldn’t, not this time.
“I think I’m going to head to bed.” She dragged herself from the couch.
“Are you okay?” Worry etched into every line of his face.
She pasted on a familiar fake smile, one she hadn’t yet used with Nick, and nodded. “It’s just been a long day.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See you in the morning.”
He nodded, his eyes following her as she straightened and turned away from him.
Her smile fell as she trudged to her room. Nick hadn’t commented on her going to sleep alone. He must have seen the weariness she tried to cover up.
A weariness she knew too well.
After spending so long feeling healthy and strong, it all seemed worse than before, and she suddenly didn’t know how she’d handled her life before the coma. Working her small shifts at the coffee shop, being a mother, trying to put a brave face on for everyone she knew.
That world no longer made sense to her, and she couldn’t fathom having to find that strength once again.
Collapsing onto the bed, she burrowed underneath the blankets as a chill settled in her bones. Life called to her, the conscious world begging her to return.
But she couldn’t, not yet. Not until she knew how the story ended.
Pulling the script from the bedside table, she flipped it open, thumbing through pages until she reached the only ones she hadn’t laid eyes on.
The ending.
Elizabeth didn’t know Stephen. She’d never met the man who crafted such beautiful words, but she saw him. In the quiet calm of Nick—when he wasn’t being grumpy—in the slow smiles that came unwillingly. She could almost imagine the writer sitting there beside him, guiding him.
Her finger skimmed over the name Max, knowing his character was crafted with so much love. How could Nick not have seen it?
She knew the answer before she even asked herself the question. He didn’t believe he deserved Stephen’s love, not after everything.
Sliding down further in the bed when she could no longer sit up straight, she let her eyes drink in the words, soaking them into her very soul.
“Max, I didn’t believe in love before I met you.”
She skimmed over the acting directions to the next piece of dialogue, imagining the scene in her mind.
