Her Purpose | ✓

Chapter Nine

I stared at the hospital entrance, my stomach churning. Mum squeezed my hand, offering a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ready, love?"

No. Not even close. But I nodded anyway, taking a deep breath as we walked through the automatic doors.

The smell hit me first—antiseptic and something else, something uniquely hospital-y, that made my skin crawl. I hated this place. I hated the too-bright lights, the squeaky linoleum floors, and the constant beeping of machines.

It reminded me of when I was little when I'd broken my arm falling out of a tree. I'd spent hours in A&E, surrounded by moaning patients and harried nurses. The fear and pain of that day had stuck with me, making every hospital visit since a trial.

And now here I was, about to start palliative chemo. Palliative. The word echoed in my head, a constant reminder that this wasn't about getting better. It was about buying time.

We checked in at reception and found seats in the waiting area. I fidgeted with the zipper of my jacket, wishing I'd brought a book or something to distract myself. Wishing Nathan was here.

I'd thought about asking him to come, but it felt like too much. He'd already done so much, given up so much of his time. And part of me didn't want him to see me like this - pale, scared, about to be pumped full of drugs that would make me feel even worse before they made me feel better.

Still, I couldn't help imagining him sitting next to me, cracking jokes to make me laugh, holding my hand when things got tough. I pushed the thought away. Mum was here. That would have to be enough.

I glanced around the waiting room, trying not to stare at the other patients. Some looked okay, chatting with their families or scrolling through their phones. Others... well, they looked like I felt. Scared. Tired. A glimpse of my possible future.

Mum must have sensed my unease because she started chattering about nothing in particular. Meri's upcoming dance recital and the new garden she planned for next spring. I let her words wash over me, grateful for the distraction.

"Elizabeth Reid?"

I jumped at the sound of my name, my heart racing. This was it. No turning back now.

As we stood to follow the nurse, I caught sight of my reflection in a nearby window. My face was pale, and I had dark circles under my eyes. My hair was already starting to thin. I barely recognised myself.

For a moment, I considered running. Just turning around and bolting out those automatic doors, pretending none of this was happening. But then I felt Mum's hand on my back, gentle but firm, guiding me forward.

One step at a time, I told myself. That's all I had to do—one step at a time.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The nurse led us down a long corridor, her shoes squeaking on the polished floor. I tried to focus on that sound, anything to distract from the knot in my stomach. We passed room after room, some with doors closed, others open enough for me to catch glimpses of patients in beds. I quickly looked away.