I looked down, my hands folded in front of me, fighting back the tears stinging my eyes and took a deep breath before looking back at the doctor in front of me.

“Ben,” he started, as I shook my hand and head.

“I know what it means.”

“There are other regimens we can try. We can change your cocktail. See what happens from there.”

“I know,” I said, barely audible.

“This isn’t the..”

“End?”

“Exactly. You’re healthy, you take good care of yourself…”

“Healthy,” I whispered. “Right.” Its times like these I find it so hard to fight back the anger, the panic. I have to - for me, for Michael, for Hunter, for life to remain as normal as possible. That’s what I tell myself. But it isn’t easy.

Like Buddha says: Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. I repeated this through my mind, over and over again as we finished the appointment, and even as I rode home, the streets nothing more than a blur of color.

I wasn’t going to tell Michael. Not yet. I couldn’t. We had plans, I had let him begin to believe in the future. I, myself, had starting dreaming of a future. He had let me believe in it. And now I was angry. I was angry at myself. I had preached about living in the now for so long, it had become my life. And then I met Michael. And I wanted so badly to have a future, for and with him. His soft kisses, his gentle looks, the way he spoke my name all made me begin to believe in the future. I had to focus on the now, I told myself.

I opened the door, sighing softly to myself. I didn’t want to deal with this today. Tomorrow, maybe. Maybe never. Maybe, I thought to myself, I can find a way to believe the doctor. Perhaps there is another cocktail. Maybe there’s a way around all this. Then I will never have to tell Michael. I had let it go on for weeks, so far. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to mention it to him. I was hoping that it wouldn’t come to this. I was praying I would never have to tell him.

I could feel his arms around my neck, his lips on mine, his breath against my face as I pulled back, forcing a smile.

“I ordered pizza. How was your doctor’s appointment?”

I could see the tension in his face. Years together had taught me that no matter how hard Michael tried, the trouble always showed in his face, the worry shined through his beautiful brown eyes, no matter what. I couldn’t do this to him. Not now.

“Well, other than him pointing out that he can see how hard I have been working in the gym,” I grinned, fake or not.

He rolled his eyes. God, his beautiful eyes. I can’t put anymore worry in them. “Other than that, he said I can do whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” he cocked his head at me, his hands now resting on his hips. His child-like innocence never ceased to make my chest tighten, even now.

“That’s right,” I said, the need to feel his skin against mine suddenly overtaking any other thoughts and fears in my head. “And you know what I want to do?”

“Eat pizza?” He smirked.

“Not a chance,” I moved closer, one hand wrapping around his hips, pulling him in against my body tight, the other resting on his cheek, as my mouth found his. When we finally parted lips, we were both panting quietly. His pink tongue darted out between his open lips, licking softly, and suddenly I needed more. “I want to make love to my husband, right now. That’s what I want to do” I scooped him up, covering the ground to the stairs leading to our bedroom with two steps.

“But the pizza man,” he started.

“He can wait.” I said, moving up the stairs as quickly as possible.

Call it a lie, call it a secret. But what I needed more than Michael’s worry was Michael’s love. I needed to lose myself in him, the feeling of his skin, the sound of his moans, his fingers digging into my back as his body is under mine. I needed to feel alive again. I’ll tell him later, I thought to myself when we finally reached the bed, the floor littered with the clothes we lost along the way.