Parker is usually very calm. But that man loves me. He loves me hard. And I know his panic was from considering a world without me in it. To be honest, I can’t even consider a world without me in it, so I am, instead, considering what I will do after I am declared cancer-free.

What I will do is IVF.

I know what I am up against. I watched my mother go up against it, too. I watched her lose a swift but painful battle with what proved to be the only adversary that had ever beaten Karen McCann. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to focus on calling my dad or my sister or on my surgery or my chemo or what they might find inside me.

So instead, I will focus on making my poor, shell-shocked husband deposit his sperm on the way to my surgery. Because I will beat this. I will win. And when I do, we will be so happy to have these beautiful embryos waiting to become babies, ready for us to hold them in our arms.

Amelia GLORY DAYS

I DIDN’T CONSIDER MYSELF THE kind of girl who runs home to her mother, but as soon as I left that doctor’s office, I wasn’t able to control my urge to buy a plane ticket home. Maybe I needed something familiar to anchor me back to earth, or maybe I wanted to get the unpleasantness of telling my family over with.

After a sleepless night in a hotel that was quite luxurious but left me feeling even lonelier, I boarded a plane home that early morning, sunglasses over my eyes, which were swollen and blurry from crying and lack of sleep. As I shoved my carry-on into the overhead compartment, a simple ding on my phone—a reminder of Martin’s birthday party—sent me back into sobs, prompting the woman in front of me to look at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. Thad and I loved Martin’s birthday parties. And Martin was my friend. I got to keep him in the divorce.

I wanted to tell Martin so, but I couldn’t risk anyone knowing what was going on until I told my parents. They were going to be outraged and devastated; the last thing I needed was for them to hear the news from someone else first.

I sat down in my window seat in the very last row of the plane, the only seat available so last-minute. I pulled out my phone and texted Nanette, my editor. So sorry, N. I can’t make it in today. Major emergency. Flying home to Cape Carolina. I will fill you in on all when I get back.

Typing bubbles appeared immediately, followed by Nanette’s response: Oh no, babe. You okay? Can I help? Anything you need. Take as much time as you want. I’m here for you.

I knew she was. I also knew she was panicking because we were supposed to be putting the December issue of Clematis to bed today, and while Nanette had the technical skills and know-how to do it herself, she depended on me, her managing editor, the deputy to her sheriff, for far more than I thought she even realized.