Unspoken

Chapter 1

September 4, 1992

Cancer. The word no one ever wanted to hear. John didn't even know how to start processing the news. His mind was chaos, swirling with memories of his earlier conversation with his wife, Isabella. Her face, her demeanor, the way she'd hesitated before telling him - all of it a silent message to him that what she had to say wasn't positive. Yet, even still, she'd proceeded the news of her cancer diagnosis with a tearful explanation of all the ways they would grow old together. As if saying the words aloud would change her fate. He'd stood there barely hearing the words she said, while he repeatedly clenched his fists at his sides with a growing sense of doom in his gut. He knew, he knew, something was wrong. Cancer. One word. A single frightening two syllable word that was life altering. Catastrophic. A word that for Isabella likely meant death.

"Why don't you have those tests taken over again," he said softly.

Isabella whispered, "What?"

"Why don't you call Carly, in the morning, and take those tests all over again?" he replied, feeling himself fall apart inside while trying to stay stoic in front of Isabella.

"John–"

" –please," he interrupted.

She gave him a wane smile. "Listen, Carly knows what she's talking about–"

" –doctors are human," he said quickly. "They operate a practice. They make mistakes, you know that."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she said quietly, "Honey, I have pancreatic cancer. That's a fact we have to face together... and not believing it, not accepting it, is only going to postpone all of those feelings that we're going to have to feel. For your sake, and for my sake, I think we should feel them now... I think we should deal with it now... 'cause we're going to have to figure out what we're going to do."

John stood on the pier, staring out over the river and into the darkness. It was a new moon, so all he had was the soft glow of the light affixed to the power line a hundred feet away. There was a mist in the air that gave the whole area a mystical feeling, as if some magical being might step from the fog and grant him a wish to save his wife from her impending fate. He chuckled sardonically to himself. Who was he kidding? Isabella had already accepted her fate. He was the one who was struggling.

Isabella's father, Victor, had their son Brady for the night. She was asleep at their loft, and John, unable to rest, made his way to Pier 29. He could barely process what he was feeling. Isabella said they needed to face it, but he wasn't ready. Shock had set in, and he was utterly lost. He stared out at the dark river, watching the flicker of light on it as it hit the pilings.

He was in denial, which made him immediately think of Marlena - his Doc - hazel eyes, and blonde hair. A woman who'd once been his wife, and was his dearest friend. If he was honest, she was much more than a friend, but their history was long, and complicated. Being in love with two women simply wasn't possible. So he kept his love for Marlena safely tucked inside a secret part of his heart, and focused on his wife. Since Marlena was a psychiatrist, he knew she would have strong opinions about his current mental state. "Denial," he muttered. "Doc would have a lot to say about that?"

The sounds of the buoys and the boats echoed across the water. He closed his eyes to feel the nighttime breeze on his cheeks as he tried to process his own bone deep exhaustion. His life, what little he could remember of it, had been fraught with one hardship after another, and never being one to complain, he took the blows as they came. Sometimes they sidelined him, but he had never wanted to give up. However, as he stood on the edge of Pier 29, the emotional fatigue built from years of trauma hit him so forcefully he rocked back on his heels.