Page 75 of Doctor Neighbor

My whole body shakes with the force of my sobs. I feel utterly helpless, completely broken. The weight of everything—the diagnosis, the uncertainty, the fear—it’s all too much to bear.

In this moment, alone in the dark kitchen, I allow myself to fall apart entirely. To feel every ounce of terror and grief that I've been trying to keep at bay for Maddie's sake. I cry for my daughter, for the unfairness of it all, for the innocence that's been shattered.

TWENTY-FIVE

Buster

5:54 am

An unidentifiable noise rouses me, and my eyes slowly adjust to the soft light filtering through Cole’s bedroom window. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and the events of the past few days rush back like a tidal wave: Madeline, the hospital, Cole's revelation.

Instinctively, I reach out, expecting to feel Cole's warmth beside me. My hand finds only empty space, still holding a trace of her body heat. She must have just gotten up.

I glance at my watch on the nightstand. It's later than I usually wake, but I'm grateful for the extra rest. This week, my staff has rescheduled or reassigned all my surgeries. I need to be here and fully present for Cole and Madeline, at least until we have a concrete plan.

Sitting up, I run my hand over my face, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. The weight of everything—Madeline’s diagnosis, the possibility that I'm her father—settles on my chest more palpable and heavy than a physical cement block.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor. The apartment is quiet, almost unnaturally so. Where's Cole?

Standing, I stretch, feeling the pull of muscles that have been too tense for too long.

As I approach the kitchen, I hear it—a muffled sob that stops me dead in my tracks. My heart clenches painfully in my chest, a sudden wave of concern washing over me. Cole.

The sound is unmistakable, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. I've never heard her cry before, not even during our most tense moments. She has shed tears. I've seen her red-rimmed eyes. But I've never heard her so unencumbered. She's always been so strong, so composed.

Hearing her vulnerability now makes me feel both protective and somehow intrusive as if I'm witnessing something I shouldn't. I hesitate, unsure whether to announce my presence or give her a moment to collect herself.

I pause at the threshold, giving her this private moment of grief. But the sound of her pain draws me forward like a magnet.

When I step into the kitchen, my heart aches at the sight of Cole huddled on the floor. Her red and puffy eyes catch mine as she notices my presence. She quickly wipes her face, trying to compose herself.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she says, her voice hoarse from crying.

I shake my head, approaching her slowly. Kneeling beside her, I gently brush away a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "Cole, you have nothing to apologize for," I say softly.

Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of pain and vulnerability that makes my chest tighten. I take her hand in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I want you to feel comfortable to say and do whatever you need," I continue, my voice low and steady. "This is...it's a lot. For both of us. But especially for you."

I pause, searching for the right words. "I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to protect you and Maddie. We're going to make sure she gets the absolute best care possible. I've already reached out to some colleagues and specialists in pediatric oncology. You're not in this alone."

Cole's breath hitches, and I see fresh tears forming in her eyes. Without hesitation, I pull her into my arms, holding her close. She buries her face in my chest, her body shaking with silent sobs.

"I'm here," I whisper, stroking her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

6:45 am

I step into my apartment, the weight of the past few days settling heavily on my shoulders. As I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower, my mind races with everything that's happened.

Cole is cleaning up and packing a bag of things to take back to the hospital, and we will head back together shortly. It hits me: Mr. Snuggles. I grab my phone and text Cole.

Don’t forget Mr. Snuggles!

I saw how much Maddie loves that bunny. If it even brings her some comfort, she needs him.

We won't have a definitive word back on whether Cole or I are matches for at least a week. I encouraged Cole to reach out to Steele, as well. The more possibilities, the better. She assured me she would call him this morning.

The hot water cascades over me, and I close my eyes, letting out a long breath. All of the details and questions swirl in my head, and I continue to go over them, wanting to be sure I think of everything.

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