Page 1 of Entwined
Chapter 1
I sat in the corner of the hospital room, the sterile smell of antiseptic mixing with the faint scent of the lilies I’d brought in from the greenhouse. Colson had always hated lilies. He said they reminded him of funerals, but I needed something, anything, to chase away the scent of death that seemed to linger in the air.
I watched as he slept, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He looked almost peaceful, his face less gaunt than it had been just days ago. The treatments were working—at least enough to give us more time.
I clung to that hope like a lifeline, praying that he could hold on long enough to meet our child. I knew it was a long shot, but it was all I had left. The doctors hadn’t given us much to go on, their words carefully measured, offering small glimmers of hope without promising anything concrete. But Colson had gained some strength back, enough to keep fighting, and that was more than I’d dared to hope for.
He stirred, and I straightened in my chair, my heart pounding as his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he seemed disoriented,his gaze unfocused as he tried to orient himself. Then his eyes found mine, and a small, weary smile tugged at his lips.
“Joey,” he rasped, his voice still weak, but stronger than it had been in days.
I crossed the room quickly, taking his hand in mine. It was warmer now, the color slowly returning to his skin. “I’m here,” I said, squeezing his hand gently. “How are you feeling?”
He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “Better… I think,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “The treatment… it’s helping.”
I nodded, a tight smile on my lips. “It is. You’re getting stronger.”
His eyes opened again, and for the first time in weeks, there was a spark of the old Colson in them—a glimmer of the man who had been so strong, so untouchable. “But I’m still dying,” he said quietly, the words like a knife to my heart.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay composed. “Yes,” I admitted, my voice trembling just a little. “But you’re fighting, and that’s all that matters right now.”
He watched me, his gaze piercing, as if he could see through the walls I’d carefully constructed around my emotions. “You always were a terrible liar, Joey,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
I huffed out a laugh, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “Maybe, but I’m a damn good advocate,” I shot back, giving his hand another squeeze. “And you need someone to be strong for you right now.”
His expression softened, and he looked at me with something that felt like gratitude. “You’ve always been strong,” he said, hisvoice softer now, almost tender. “I just never realized how much until now.”
I smiled, a real one this time, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered against his skin. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
He chuckled, the sound a little strained but genuine. “I think I can live with that.”
The words hung in the air between us, both of us fully aware of the irony. Neither of us said anything for a moment, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. It was as if we were both waiting, hoping that the other would say something that could make this all better, but knowing that nothing could.
Finally, Colson broke the silence, his voice more serious now. “Joey… if I don’t make it…”
“Stop,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “We’re not talking about that. Not today.”
He frowned, but I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way the fight seemed to be draining out of him. “You can’t avoid it forever,” he said, a touch of frustration in his tone.
“I know,” I replied, my voice softer now. “But today, we focus on you getting stronger. We focus on the fight, not what happens if we lose.”
He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted to argue, to push back, but he was too tired, too worn down. Finally, he nodded, letting out a breath he’d been holding. “Okay,” he agreed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Okay, Joey.”
I sat back down beside him, my hand still in his, and we fell into a comfortable silence. The machines beeped steadily, a reminder of the fragile balance we were trying to maintain. I watched him as he drifted back to sleep, his breathing slow and steady, and for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to hope.
Hope that he might make it long enough to hold our child in his arms. Hope that, even in the face of the inevitable, we could still find some small measure of happiness together.
And as I sat there, watching over him, I realized that the power struggle between us was gone. Colson needed me now, more than he ever had before, and I was more than ready to be the strong one—for both of us.
“Josephine,” Colson called.
I awoke, wiping the drool from my cheek. I fell asleep while my husband was talking, exhausted from the past few days. I practically lived in his room, working from my laptop while I sat on the luxury couch against the windows. The wealthy lived differently even when they were in hospitals.
Colson had a private room with beautiful décor and a separate four piece bath where I’d been taking showers each day.
“Yeah,” I said, wiping sleep from my eyes.
The first trimester was kicking my ass. I wasn’t always nauseous, but fatigue pulled at me and Colson’s condition didn’t help.
