There's knowing something will be hard, and then there's living through it—and they're nothing alike.
December 18th arrived gray and cold.
Ethan woke at six AM, his alarm unnecessary. He'd barely slept, his mind running through worst-case scenarios on an endless loop.
He got up and found his mother already awake, sitting at the kitchen table in the dark.
"Mom?"
She looked up, and in the dim light from the street, he could see the fear in her eyes.
"I'm scared," she said quietly.
Ethan sat beside her. "I know."
"Last time—" Her voice broke. "Last time it was so awful, Ethan. The nausea, the exhaustion, feeling like my body was betraying me. I don't know if I can do it again."
"You can. You're the strongest person I know."
"I don't feel strong. I feel terrified."
"Being scared doesn't mean you're not strong. It just means you're human."
Sarah took his hand. "What if it doesn't work this time? What if the cancer comes back worse? What if—"
"Stop." Ethan squeezed her hand. "We can't think like that. The doctor said your prognosis is excellent. Stage 1B. We caught it early. The treatment is going to work."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I choose to believe it. And so should you."
Sarah was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking."
Lily emerged from her room at seven, already dressed, her backpack on her shoulder.
"I'm not going to school," she announced.
"Yes, you are," Sarah said immediately.
"No, I'm not. I'm coming to the hospital with you."
"Lily, you have finals—"
"I don't care about finals. I care about you." Lily's voice shook. "Please, Mom. I need to be there."
Sarah looked at Ethan.
He shrugged. "Let her come. She won't be able to focus at school anyway."
"Fine. But you're bringing your books and studying in the waiting room."
"Deal."
The chemotherapy center was on the third floor of the hospital—a bright, sterile space with large windows and rows of recliners where patients sat hooked to IV poles.
It looked almost cheerful, which somehow made it worse.
A nurse named Rita checked them in, her smile warm and practiced.
"First time back?" she asked Sarah.
"First time in six years. I was hoping it would be the last time ever."
"I hear that a lot." Rita's voice was kind. "We're going to take good care of you. Come on back."
They followed her to a recliner near the window. Sarah settled in while Rita checked her vitals, started an IV, and confirmed her medications.
"The infusion takes about four to six hours," Rita explained. "First we'll give you anti-nausea meds and steroids to help prevent reactions. Then the actual chemo drugs. You'll probably feel okay during the treatment—it's the next few days that are harder."
"I remember," Sarah said quietly.
"We've got blankets if you get cold, magazines, TV—whatever you need to stay comfortable. And family can stay with you the whole time."
Rita left to prepare the medications, and they settled in to wait.
Vanessa arrived twenty minutes later, carrying a bag with books, snacks, and a travel pillow.
"I figured we'd be here a while," she said, setting everything down.
"You didn't have to come," Sarah said.
"Yes, I did. You're family now."
Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, sweetheart."
The first hour was easy.
The anti-nausea medication made Sarah drowsy, and she dozed while the steroids dripped into her veins. Ethan sat in a chair beside her, attempting to study for his English Literature final tomorrow, though the words blurred on the page.
Lily curled up in another chair with her chemistry textbook, actually reading for once.
Vanessa sat on the floor, her back against Ethan's chair, scrolling through her phone and occasionally reaching up to squeeze his hand.
Around ten AM, Rita returned with the chemotherapy drugs—three bags of clear liquid that looked deceptively harmless.
"Here we go," she said, hanging them on the IV pole. "These will run for about four hours. If you feel any burning, tingling, tightness in your chest, or trouble breathing, you tell me immediately. Okay?"
Sarah nodded.
Rita started the drip.
And the real battle began.
For the first hour, Sarah seemed fine.
She dozed, woke occasionally to sip water, dozed again. The machines beeped steadily. Other patients came and went. An older man in the next recliner chatted with his wife about their grandchildren. A younger woman across the room listened to music with headphones, eyes closed.
It all felt almost normal.
Then, around eleven-thirty, Sarah woke suddenly and reached for the basin Rita had left beside the chair.
She was sick—violently, painfully—despite the anti-nausea medication.
Lily jumped up, tears streaming down her face. "Mom—"
"It's okay, baby." Sarah's voice was weak. "Just—give me a minute."
Rita appeared with cool washcloths and ginger ale, her movements efficient and calm.
"This is normal," she said. "Some people react more strongly than others. We can adjust your nausea meds for next time."
"Next time," Sarah repeated bitterly.
She was sick twice more before the infusion ended at two PM.
By the time Rita disconnected the IV and went through discharge instructions, Sarah looked gray and exhausted.
"Get her home, make sure she stays hydrated, and don't worry if she can't eat much today," Rita said. "The nausea usually peaks around day three, then starts to improve. Call if there's fever, severe pain, or uncontrolled vomiting."
They helped Sarah to her feet. She swayed slightly, and Ethan immediately wrapped an arm around her.
"I've got you."
"I know."
The bus ride home was quiet.
Sarah leaned against Ethan's shoulder, eyes closed, one hand pressed to her stomach. Lily sat on her other side, holding her hand.
Vanessa carried all the bags—medications, instruction sheets, the blanket Sarah had used at the hospital.
When they got home, they helped Sarah to her bedroom. She barely managed to change into pajamas before collapsing into bed.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"For what?" Ethan asked.
"For putting you through this again."
"Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"Stay with me? Just for a little while?"
"Of course."
Ethan sat on the edge of her bed while Sarah drifted into restless sleep. Through the thin walls, he could hear Lily crying in her room.
Vanessa appeared in the doorway, her expression breaking when she saw him.
"Come here," he said quietly.
She crossed the room and sat beside him, and he finally let himself lean on her.
"This is going to be awful, isn't it?" he whispered.
"Yeah. It is."
"I don't know if I can watch her go through this for three more months."
"You can. Because you don't have a choice. And because she needs you." Vanessa took his hand. "But you don't have to do it alone."
"I feel like I do."
"Well, you don't. I'm here. Lily's here. We're all here."
They sat in silence for a while, Sarah's labored breathing the only sound.
Finally, Vanessa spoke again. "I'm staying tonight. I already texted my dad."
"Vanessa—"
"I'm not arguing about this. Your mom is going to need help, and you have a final tomorrow that you need to actually sleep for. So I'm staying, and I'm taking the first shift. You sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking. I'm telling you." Her voice was firm. "Go. Sleep. You're useless to everyone if you collapse from exhaustion."
Ethan wanted to argue. But he was so tired, and the idea of not having to be vigilant for even a few hours was too tempting.
"Okay. Thank you."
"Stop thanking me." She kissed his forehead. "Go."
Ethan woke at three AM to the sound of his mother being sick in the bathroom.
He got up immediately and found Vanessa already there, holding Sarah's hair back, murmuring quiet reassurances.
"I've got it," he said.
"We've both got it," Vanessa corrected.
They helped Sarah back to bed, made sure she took her anti-nausea medication, got her settled with fresh water and a cool washcloth.
"I'm sorry," Sarah kept saying. "I'm so sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Ethan and Vanessa said in unison.
Despite everything, Sarah smiled weakly. "You two are good together."
"We know," Vanessa said. "Now sleep. We're right here."
The next three days were a nightmare.
Sarah was sick constantly—barely able to keep down water, let alone food. She slept fitfully, waking with nausea or pain or anxiety. The steroids from the treatment made her jittery and unable to rest properly.
Ethan missed his English Literature final. He emailed the professor explaining the situation, hoping for a makeup exam.
Professor Williams responded within an hour: Family comes first. You can take the makeup exam in January. Focus on your mother.
Lily stayed home from school Monday and Tuesday, refusing to leave despite Sarah's protests.
Vanessa became a permanent fixture in the apartment. She slept on the couch, helped with medications, handled phone calls from the hospital, and kept the apartment running while Ethan spiraled between exhaustion and vigilance.
On the third day, Sarah finally managed to keep down some soup.
"I think the worst is over," she said weakly. "For this round, anyway."
"Three more to go," Lily said quietly.
"Three more to go," Sarah agreed. "But we made it through one. That's something."
Saturday morning, exactly a week after the first treatment, Sarah woke up looking almost human again.
The nausea had eased. The exhaustion remained, but she could get out of bed without help, could eat small meals, could hold a conversation without falling asleep mid-sentence.
"I feel like myself again," she said at breakfast. "Weak, but myself."
"Thank God," Lily said.
"How long until the next one?" Sarah asked.
"January 8th," Ethan said. "Three weeks."
"Three weeks to recover and prepare to do it all over again." Sarah managed a weak laugh. "This is my life now."
"For three more months," Ethan said. "Then it's over. And you'll be healthy."
"I hope so."
"I know so."
Sarah looked at him—really looked at him—and her expression softened.
"You've been so strong through this. All of you." She looked at Lily, then at Vanessa, who was making tea in the kitchen. "I'm so lucky. Even in the worst of it, I'm so lucky."
"We're the lucky ones," Ethan said. "Because you're still here."
"For now."
"For always."
Sarah squeezed his hand. "From your mouth to God's ears."
That night, after his mother had gone to bed and Lily was asleep, Ethan sat on the couch with Vanessa.
"You should go home," he said. "You've been here for a week. You need to sleep in your own bed."
"I will. Tomorrow." She leaned against him. "How are you doing?"
"I don't know. Numb, maybe? Like I'm operating on autopilot."
"That's probably protective. Your brain shutting down unnecessary functions so you can focus on survival."
"Is this what the next three months look like? A week of hell followed by two weeks of recovery, then repeat?"
"Probably. But you'll get through it."
"Will I?"
"Yes. Because you don't have a choice. And because you're stronger than you think." She took his hand. "And because I'm not letting you do this alone."
Ethan pulled her closer. "I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do. You just don't see it yet."
They sat in the quiet darkness of the apartment, holding each other, while outside the world continued its relentless forward motion.
Three treatments down.
Three more to go.
And somehow, they'd survive this too.
Together.