“You sure about this?” she asked. “If your people disagree, they can override your choice.”
“I don’t got people,” I said. “No family. Just let them take what they can.”
At least if I end up six feet under, someone out there might get a second shot.
She hesitated. I caught a flicker of guilt in her eyes.
“It’s alright,” I added. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’ve been hearing bad news since I was fifteen.”
“Actually, it’s… not as hopeless as it looks. Chemo and precision therapy could buy you time. And the baby's still early. We could—”
“I know,” I cut in, my voice calm. “If it was early-stage, maybe I’d fight it. But it's not. And I'm not gonna pretend just to make you feel better.”
She swallowed. Doctors like her weren’t used to girls like me—girls who’d held blades and secrets, who’d cleaned blood off tile floors without blinking.
“How big is a baby at seven weeks?” I asked, just to change the subject. Tried to smile, like I wasn’t choking inside.
“There’s already a heartbeat,” she said quietly, and for the first time, her expression softened into something real.
“No kidding?” My throat tightened. “So it's in there, alive.”
She nodded. “Little thing’s got its own rhythm already.”