Need you | Miles Fairchild

26 | the choice

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and coffee, a sterile kind of comfort that did little to calm the storm inside me. My hands were twisted together in my lap, knuckles white, while Alice sat next to me, her presence quiet but solid.

"Hey," she said softly, resting her hand over mine. "You're doing the right thing. Whatever happens today, you're not alone."

I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

The nurse called my name, and my stomach plummeted. Every step toward the back room felt like walking through fire. I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to confront it. And yet, here I was.

Alice stayed beside me until the doctor came in, her hand never leaving mine.

The doctor was calm, professional, but not cold. She explained the procedures, the options, and what to expect in ways that made the entire thing feel more manageable—but no less terrifying.

"I know this is hard," she said gently. "But you've made the right choice for yourself. That's what matters."

I closed my eyes and nodded, trying not to think about Miles, about Rebecca, about everything I'd left behind.

Alice squeezed my hand. "You're stronger than you think," she whispered.

My heart pounded like it was trying to escape my chest, and my hands were trembling in my lap. Alice sat beside me, her fingers intertwined with mine, a lifeline in the storm.

"You don't have to do this alone," she said softly. "I'm right here."

I swallowed, nodding, trying to convince myself that I was strong enough for this. I was making the choice—I wanted this—but the weight of it pressed down harder than I expected.

The nurse gave me a final rundown, explained what would happen step by step. I listened, nodding mechanically, my mind only half-present. Every word felt like a drumbeat counting down to the moment I couldn't undo.

When the procedure began, I squeezed Alice's hand until I thought I might break it. Her calm presence was the only thing keeping me grounded.

The moments stretched long and surreal. Pain, sharp and sudden, hit me in waves. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying not to let it consume me. Alice whispered small, steady words, reminders that I wasn't alone, that I had made the choice.

When it was over, I lay back, exhausted and hollow. The world felt distant, muffled, like I was waking from a bad dream.

Alice brushed my hair from my forehead and held me close. "You did it. You made your choice. And I'm so proud of you."

I tried to smile, but it faltered. Pride and relief clashed with emptiness and grief. "It's... over," I whispered.

"Yes," Alice said. "Over. Now you can breathe."

I nodded, though the tears still came, slow and quiet this time, not from panic but from release. The weight I'd carried for weeks had shifted. Not gone—but lighter. Manageable.

—

We left the clinic together, the sun soft and warm on our faces. I didn't feel whole. I didn't feel healed. But I felt something like freedom—freedom from the choice that had haunted me, freedom to start processing, freedom to reclaim the pieces of my life I'd been letting slip.

Alice held my hand all the way home. And for the first time in a long time, I believed that maybe... just maybe... I could survive this.