Page 153 of Break Me

Not just this moment.

All of it.

Every step.

Every piece.

Neither of us is ready for how much harder this is going to get. That thought lands somewhere deep and immovable.

It’s not fear. Not for me.

For him.

Because I won’t be the one left here when it’s over.

He will.

The question comes before I can stop it.

What is it going to do to him?

Not the diagnosis or the way my body’s changing.

This.

The man I’m leaving behind.

I blink hard against the burn behind my eyes and keep my head where it is, tucked against his shoulder, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing anchor me.

Sam’s arm tightens slightly around me.

I don’t move. I just stay here with him, letting the quiet settle around us, holding myself together the way I know I’m going to have to from now on.

And even as I do, I can feel it beginning to take shape. The choices I’m going to make, the things I’ll put into place before any of this gets worse.

I will not leave Sam alone when I leave.

Not if I can help it.

Samuel

I’ve spent most of my life knowing how things come apart. Knowing where to look when something stops working the way it should, how to trace the problem back to its source, and how to take it apart piece by piece until I find what failed and fix it before it gets worse.

It’s never guesswork.

There’s always a reason.

Something wears down, something slips out of place, something breaks, and if you know what you’re doing, you can put it back together again.

I’ve built my entire life on understanding how things work, and more importantly, how to make them work again.

Tonight, I’m sitting here with my arm around my wife and for the first time in my life, I’m watching something I understand in every way that matters, and yet I can’t fix any of it.

Raven isn’t a blown engine or a stripped bolt. She’s not a part I can replace.

There’s nothing to take apart.

Nothing to rebuild.