Happily Married To An Asshole

chapter 4: Hope(II)

4 Days Later

Amélia stared at the small mirror hung prefectly in the hallway. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her relection, wishing she could wash away the bitterness of the decisions she'd made . Her reflection in the glass seemed almost foreign now—pale skin, hollow eyes, her once-lustrous hair reduced to a short, frail cut. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd looked at herself and felt whole.

The doctor had told her there were no guarantees. With each passing day, the surgery seemed more like a distant hope than an actual lifeline. The doctors called it a "50/50 chance," but in her heart, she knew the reality was harsher. A part of her wanted to give up, to just let go and allow her body to succumb to the disease. But then she would think of Mirabel—the little girl who still believed in her, who still needed her. And it was for Mirabel that she would keep fighting.

"Twinkle," Amélia said, rolling into Mirabel's room, her voice soft as she observed her daughter bent over a textbook, scribbling notes in frustration.

Mirabel didn't look up at first. "Ugh! This is so frustrating, Mom! I've been trying to finish this trigonometry for two hours, and Mr. James said if we don't finish the assignment, we'll get detention! That man and his mustache!" She mimicked the teacher's voice, and Amélia couldn't help but laugh.

Mirabel's voice was a mix of humor and frustration, and it reminded Amélia of the lightness she used to feel before the weight of the illness pressed down on her. But now, every moment with her daughter felt like a fleeting dream.

"Like, how does he even eat with that mustache covering his mouth? That's so gross, Mom," Mirabel continued, giggling as she pretended to mimic a disgusted look.

Amélia smiled faintly, but inside, her heart ached. She knew she had so little time left with Mirabel. How could she explain what was coming? How could she leave her behind?

"Mom, are you okay?" Mirabel asked suddenly, a soft but insistent tone in her voice.

Amélia paused, feeling the lie rising in her throat. She didn't want to lie to her daughter, but what choice did she have? "I'm fine, Twinkle. Just a little stressed. Nothing to worry about."

But Mirabel wasn't fooled. She put down her book and looked at her mother with concern. "Mom, you don't look fine. You're pale, and your hair... when did you cut it? It makes your head look like an egg!" She giggled, trying to lighten the moment, but Amélia couldn't help but feel the sting.

"No, seriously, Mom. Why did you cut your hair? We were going to braid it together over the summer. I curse that stupid book club for making you do this."

Amélia laughed, the sound coming out more strained than she intended. "You're right, Twinkle. I'll make it up to you. We'll do the braids one day, I promise."

She didn't want Mirabel to see the pain in her eyes, so she quickly changed the subject. "How about we get you to bed? You can finish your homework tomorrow. Come here, let me give you a head massage."

Mirabel's eyes brightened, grateful for the distraction. "Oh yes, please! I need it after almost being killed by Mr. James' assignment," she said with exaggerated drama, making Amélia laugh again.

Once Mirabel was asleep, Amélia kissed her daughter's forehead gently. The warmth of her child's skin was a comfort, but also a sharp reminder of the inevitable goodbye she would one day have to say.

One Hour Before Surgery

The sterile smell of the hospital room made Amélia's stomach churn. She was supposed to feel relief that the surgery was finally happening, but instead, there was only fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of leaving Mirabel alone. Fear of facing Eathan's indifference, knowing that if things went wrong, he wouldn't be there to help her pick up the pieces.

The door to her room opened, and Dr. Dylan walked in, his usual calm expression replaced with something softer, more concerned.

"Hi, Dr. Dylan," Amélia said, trying to muster a smile, though it felt fragile.

"Amélia," he began, sitting down across from her. "There's something we need to discuss before the surgery."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What is it?"

"Are you sure you want to go through with this surgery?" His voice was gentle but firm. "The chances of success are slim—it's very risky. Normally, with cancer surgery, there's a 50/50 chance, but in your case... it's even more complicated."

Amélia paused, looking down at her trembling hands. "Does it really matter? If I don't take the chance, I'll die knowing I never tried. At least with the surgery, there's a little bit of hope."

She glanced out the window at the bright sunlight streaming through, a stark contrast to the darkness she felt inside. She would rather fight for that glimmer than surrender to the pain.

Dr. Dylan sighed. "Amélia, you don't have to do this. You could spend your remaining time with Mirabel, your loved ones..."

"I know," she whispered. "But I can't live with regret. This surgery is my only chance, no matter how small it is. I can't leave Mirabel thinking I didn't even try."

He nodded, his expression filled with sorrow and understanding. "Alright, if you're sure, we'll proceed. But you need to sign some final paperwork before we begin."

Amélia signed the forms with shaky hands. She didn't want to think about the consequences, only the hope that maybe, just maybe, she would wake up and see Mirabel's face again.

Later, After Surgery

Amélia awoke to a dull, throbbing pain in her chest. The bright lights of the hospital room made her eyes squint. She was aware of the machines beeping around her, the scent of antiseptic in the air, but what she wanted most was to see Mirabel. To hear her voice.

Her eyes fluttered open, and there was Maya, standing by her bedside. Maya's face was pale, but she smiled, relief flooding her features.

"You made it through the surgery, Amélia," Maya whispered, her voice tight with emotion. "You're going to be okay."

Amélia nodded weakly, her heart aching with exhaustion. "How's... Mirabel?"

"She's fine, sleeping in the waiting room," Maya said, brushing a lock of hair from Amélia's forehead. "Don't worry. You've got time to rest now. Everything will be alright."

Amélia closed her eyes, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. But in that moment, a flicker of hope kindled in her heart. There was still time. Time to fight. Time to be with Mirabel.

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