I kept smiling.
Inside, I was screaming.
I WAITED FOR ETHAN TO LEAVE THE BED
Eventually, he shuffled toward the bathroom with his IV pole.
The moment the door closed—
I moved.
I crossed the room.
Lifted the mattress.
My fingers were shaking so badly I nearly dropped it.
Between the bed frame and the springs was a thin manila folder.
I pulled it out.
Water was running in the bathroom.
I opened the folder.
The first page was a lab report.
Ethan’s name.
Recent date.
I scanned down.
Then stopped.
NO EVIDENCE OF MALIGNANCY.
I frowned.
Read it again.
No evidence of malignancy.
I flipped to the next page.
Different date.
Same conclusion.
Then another.
Healthy bloodwork.
No cancer markers.
No sign of terminal disease.
The dates were from weeks after the day we had been told he was dying.
My ears started ringing.
If Ethan didn’t have cancer—
why was he lying in a hospital bed?
Why had we been told he had months to live?
Why had he rushed me into a wedding?
I TOOK PHOTOS
I pulled out my phone.
Photographed everything.
One report.
Then another.
Then another.
There were more papers underneath.
I reached for them.
Then—
the bathroom faucet stopped.
My heart jumped.
I shoved the documents back into place.
Closed the folder.
Slid it under the mattress.
Smoothed the sheet.
Then grabbed the water pitcher from Ethan’s tray just as the toilet flushed.
He came out.
“You okay?”
I nodded too quickly.
“You look pale.”
“I’m tired.”
He patted the mattress beside him.
“Come here.”
I sat.
Ethan took my hand.
And for the first time in twenty years—
I wanted to pull away.
I looked at the boy who had carried my backpack in elementary school.
The teenager who waited outside my house before prom.
The man I had loved nearly my entire life.
And realized I might not know him at all.
THE NURSE SAW MY FACE
When visiting hours ended, Ethan encouraged me to go home.
“Sleep.”
“I will.”
I stepped into the hallway.
The nurse from earlier was stocking a cart.
She looked at me.
Then whispered:
“You looked.”
I nodded.
“The reports say he isn’t sick.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“I’m sorry.”
“What else do you know?”
“Nothing for certain.”
“You said Ethan and Dr. Klein had a plan.”
“I know.”
“What plan?”
“I don’t know.”
She lowered her voice.
“I’ve been a nurse here seven years. Patients do not normally hide real lab results beneath mattresses.”
“Did you report it?”
“I tried asking questions.”
