I would accept he’d love another, marry another…that was how frantic I was to heal him.
I was willing to exist and grow up in that hell-house with a murdering mother and raping father if it meant Ren survived. Because, at least that way…I would never have known what I was about to lose as I wouldn’t have had him to start with.
Was that selfless or selfish?
Selfless to want him to live or selfish not to want to face the pain?
No matter what happened in the future, I would keep fighting. I would keep clearing the carnage and carrying a sword into battle.
There was no other way.
Because I was Ren’s.
Yesterday, tomorrow, for always.
By the time night had fallen, casting us in moon glow and star shadows, Ren and I were steady enough to venture outside and cook a simple meal.
Watching him boil water for pasta and use his knife to whittle a stick into a stirrer, I made up a story of enchantment where he was part seraph and indomitable—where the inescapable power of age held zero sway.
And that was the moment that I knew, just knew that love would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to endure.
It wasn’t my origins or the fact I was never meant to exist. It wasn’t seeing what my parents did or the dead children they’d tortured.
It was something only a lucky few enjoyed.
Something that was said to be worth any pain or price.
Love.
I was no longer a silly girl who idolized her prince and saviour.
I was a woman born to darkness and now, I bargained with that darkness for hope. Hope for the boy I was created for.
A boy I wanted to marry.
A boy I did marry.
A simple, perfect marriage that was the third largest incident of our lives.
Three out of five moments.
Wonderful moments.
Horrible moments.
Moments that make up a life.
One, two, three, four, five.
One, Ren was arrested, which led to a domino river of birth certificates and closure.
Two, Ren told me he was dying and began a nightmare we would face together.
Three, Ren married me a week after and made me the happiest and saddest girl alive.
Four…?
Well, four arrived eight and a half months later, bringing joy and sorrow in equal measure.
And five?
Ugh, five…
Five will come last.
Once our story is over.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
REN
* * * * * *
2021
THERE WERE MANY things I’d experienced in my thirty or so years.
Some mundane and some uncommon, but I’d never felt more aware of my fragility and timelessness than when I said, ‘I do.’
When I joined the ranks of husbands.
When I entered the community of marriage and swore my life to serve, protect, and adore.
Up until the moment I’d heard the word ‘incurable,’ I’d been a patient man.
I didn’t rush. I weighed up the pros and cons before I leapt. I enjoyed knowing every outcome before I committed.
But now…
Now, I was the opposite of patient.
I was thirsty and unrepentant and impetuous.
And I didn’t wait for anything.
Not that Della wanted to. She was just as hasty as me to bind our souls together.
After a few days in the forest, both discussing and skirting the subject of my impending demise, we returned home as a united front and braved the storm of telling Cassie and Liam together.
John had helped.
Tissues had been used.
Curses had been uttered.
Hugs had been given.
John was right when he said this would be easier with people by my side, and I stood a little taller, a little braver for tomorrow.
It also meant things got done a hell of a lot faster.
Between all of us, we arranged a simple gazebo in the garden and a reverend to marry us. I gave up my concepts of marrying Della in a simple meadow, relinquishing planning to the grandiose ideals of Cassie and letting her invite Adam and his family.
While she plotted our wedding, Della and I visited oncology and the doctor who’d kindly put me on the off-label trial of Keytruda.
Rick Mackenzie was an old Scot who’d been away from home for decades but still had a burr of Scottish accent. He’d been gentle, explaining what I couldn’t to Della, and answering her unsteady questions.
I’d held Della’s hand, flinching when she flinched and soothing her when she cried.
I chose to have another treatment of Keytruda before my tests to see if I’d improved, and Della hissed between her teeth as the nurse pricked me with the needle and began the thirty-minute siphon of man-made magic into my body.
Once again, claustrophobia clawed, but it was thirty minutes of hell for hopefully a lifetime with my wife.
Afterward, with no side effects to speak of, Rick arranged for another CT scan, blood work, and X-ray, and also took samples from Della…just in case.
Our results were due any day now, and it’d been the hardest thing not to get my hopes up about my own prognosis and keep all fear away from Della’s.