Page 96 of Mercy
Ivy nods, “Okay.”
“I am having surgery the day after tomorrow.”
“Why?” Ivy asks with a shaky voice.
Mercy responds, “I have a little bit of cancer.”
Obviously, she’s trying to cushion the blow because there’s no such thing as a little bit of cancer. You either have cancer, or you don’t.
A tear runs down Ivy’s cheek, and Mercy shakes her head.
“It’s not like yours, sweet girl. They’ll do the surgery and then it’ll be gone.”
“No chemo?” She appears shocked as if she didn’t realize you could have cancer and not go through chemo. Honestly, I’m sure this is news to her.
Mercy smiles, “No chemo.”
Ivy relaxes.
“It’s going to be a little while before I can come see you though, I have to heal from the surgery before I can come back.”
Ivy glances at me, then to her tablet, and back to me before her gaze settles back to Mercy.
Mercy giggles, “Yes, you can still call me.”
Damn, all of a sudden, it hits me, Ivy could have reached her when I had no clue where she was. Of course, she wouldn’t leave without a word to Ivy.
When Mercy is ready to go, she hugs Ivy quickly and walks over to me.
I hate that the one thing Mercy wants most is being taken from her, and I can’t give it to her. She wants to be a mother, and she wants to carry the babies. I want to give her everything she desires, but I can’t do anything about this. It’s completely out of my control.
I need to remember she’s going through a lot emotionally. This will be a challenge, and I don’t know if she’s even been told what it all means. As we get out to the car, I am afraid to ask the burning question in my mind, but I have to. I need to make sure my girl isn’t blindsided.
“Baby, did your doctor tell you what to expect?”
“Yeah, of course,” she shrugs, “I’ll go home somewhere between one and four days and recover for four to six weeks.”
“Did she mention menopause?”
“No,” she responds as she pulls her hand away and stares out the window.
I grip the steering wheel as I turn off the highway. I choose to leave her alone for a few minutes. This is a lot for such a young woman to process, and I know she’s struggling. It’s not going to get easier for a while.
She doesn’t speak another word the rest of the drive. When we finally get back to my house, she doesn’t wait for me to open her door. She gets out, walks up to the door, enters the code, and goes inside. I take a deep breath and grab her bag from the back of the car. I need to be here for her, but I feel like I’m preparing to walk into a lion’s den. When I walk in, she’s nowhere in sight. I take my wallet and keys and set them on the coffee table. She’s not in the living room, the kitchen, I walk to the bedroom, and she’s not there either. What the hell? She couldn’t have simply disappeared. I head down the other hall that leads to the guest bedrooms. The sobs echo from outside the door of the bedroom she stayed in when she was here with Nash.
I open the door and walk in slowly, and I’m honestly terrified right now. Will giving her this information make her change her mind about the surgery?
She’s on the floor between the bed and end table, knees are drawn to her chest, arms draped over her legs, she looks so small and broken like this.
I sit on the floor in front of her, and without touching her, I just stare at her. I’m trying to give her time, but I can’t let this go on all night.
“Baby girl, tell me what you need right now.”
“I hate you.”
Her words fucking sting, even though I know, it’s a complete lie.
“Why?”
