Oliver had watched from the window as she climbed into the taxi. She pressed a finger to her lips and Oliver nodded once. It was the last time he had seen her without her diagnosis hanging over them. She’d collapsed that night and been rushed to hospital.

‘It’s cancer,’ the doctor had said after a series of tests.

Oliver had felt like he was falling. He had gripped her hand while he asked what the treatment plan was.

The doctor’s gaze had shifted briefly to the floor before looking at Oliver once more and he had known the forthcoming news wasn’t good.

‘I’m afraid it’s stage four so, while there are things we can put in place to—’

‘It can’t be. She hasn’t had any symptoms…’ But even as Oliver had said the words, he knew that they were a lie. Her constant exhaustion. Her weight loss. Her stomach aches. The lack of colour in her cheeks. He had put it down to her busy lifestyle. Let her reassure him that she didn’t need to see a doctor, she was fine, she had said.

Fine.

She was dying.

‘I’m sorry,’ she had said as if she’d let him down when it was the other way around. He worked in medicine, for God’s sake. How could he not have known? Still, he hadn’t quite believed it, was sure a miracle would somehow occur.

But it didn’t.

‘I’m sorry too,’ he would whisper while she slept.

It was frightening how quickly she had faded away. In a matter of weeks he was sitting by her bed, sleeping by her bed, while she drifted in and out of consciousness. Delirious with pain and medication. It tortured him that he didn’t know what she was thinking, feeling. Did she blame him? He blamed himself. An earlier diagnosis might have made all the difference. He had been too wrapped up in his research to notice. What sort of husband was he? He didn’t deserve her love. He didn’t know if he still had it.

His guilt had grown, stretching his skin, pushing into his bones until his whole body ached with the pressure of feeling.

‘Clem.’ He said her name frequently, as though by keeping it alive he could keep her alive.

He couldn’t.

It was mid-morning. Outside the sun was shining, the birds were singing. A lawnmower hummed in the distance. It was a fluffy white clouds and ice cream day. A possibility day. She had opened her eyes and focused on him. Properly focused on him. Oliver had felt a surge of hope. She was coming back to him.

‘Clem?’