But they had died. She wasn’t about to do that. Whatever was wrong with her, she’d handle. Joshua Park would not have a sick wife. She wouldn’t put him in that position.

“Okay,” she said, sounding more like herself. Good. Good. “So the meds, maybe oxygen in the future . . . anything else?”

There was another pause. “We’ll get into respiratory therapy to maximize your lung function.”

“Got it. Sure. And how long does this last?” No answer. “I mean, when will I be back to my old self?”

Kwana—Dr. Bennett—didn’t answer for a second.

“What is the cure, Kwana?” Lauren asked loudly.

Josh turned to look at her, finally. Finally. “There is no cure,” he said quietly.

The words took a few seconds to land.

“What?” Lauren shouted. Then, freakishly, she laughed. “Well, that’s not helpful.” She looked at both her doctor and her husband, then swallowed. “Seriously?”

“There’s no cure at the moment, no,” Dr. Bennett said. Lauren didn’t want to call her Kwana anymore. Nope! They weren’t going to be friends.

So if there was no cure, then that meant . . . well, it meant she’d have to deal with this the rest of her life.

Huh.

“I don’t want you to panic,” Dr. Bennett said. “This is a serious illness, but you’re only twenty-six, Lauren. We honestly have no prediction for how well you’ll do. Okay? You’re very healthy otherwise. Let’s not envision the worst just yet. I’m starting you on a medication called Ofev, which is very effective in slowing the fibers and scar tissue. A lot of patients swear by a combination of Chinese herbs, so I want you to try that as well. I’ve got all the information here.”

“Okay,” Lauren said, slightly reassured. “Great. Um . . . what’s my long-term prognosis?”

“I don’t want to jump the gun here.”

“Tell me anyway,” she said.

Kwana looked at Josh, who gave a small nod. “Well, our last line of defense is a lung transplant.”

“Would I be okay then?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we have to, okay?”

Lauren looked at Josh.

Skin still gray. Jaw locked. Infrequent blinking. Oh, no. No, no. No thank you.

Josh knew a lot about medicine. A lot.

“Am I . . . am I going to get better?” she whispered.

Dr. Bennett leaned forward, folding her hands together. “Lauren, I’m very sorry, but as your husband said, there is no cure for this. There are some promising treatments on the horizon, but right now, I have to be honest with you. With IPF, the fibers keep growing until breathing becomes impossible. A lung transplant would be the final step. Otherwise, it’s a terminal disease.”

The world stopped. No sound, no smells, nothing. Just complete stillness.

Terminal. Final.

Terminal?

Lauren swallowed. Her eyes felt huge and cold. “So . . . I’m going to die?”