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“Fuck,” I whispered as I stared at my reflection.

I looked like shit. Dark circles under my eyes, sallow skin, and just kinda frayed around the edges. I'd been pretty once. Pretty enough to snag the hottest guy I'd ever met. But he wasn't so hot these days either.

“It's almost over, Indie,” I said, and then instantly started sobbing. “God, I'm a horrible person.”

My knees gave out, and I crumpled onto the bathroom floor. Leaning against the counter, I gave in to yet another round of tears. It seemed like all I was doing lately was crying. I loved Jake. He and his family. As a foster kid, family was the ultimate dream for me. And Jake's family was amazing. His grandma baked cookies, for fuck's sake! And they all treated me like I was one of them. They adored me, but not just for me. It was because of Jake. Because of how I had stood by him through his cancer treatments.

Chemo. The craziness that came from all the steroids. The additional craziness that came from pumping poison into Jake's body. The long nights holding him after he woke up from another nightmare. Jake had them a lot at first, before he accepted he was going to die.

It took me a while to accept it too. I was as determined as he was to fight the prostate cancer. At first, it looked as if Jake might survive it. He responded well to the drugs. But a year into it, he took a bad turn. The cancer spread to his bones. And that was the beginning of the end.

Jake had to move into the hospital. Intensive care. It was to where the goal was to make him as comfortable as possible. That only happens in the last month of life. He would have gone to hospice, but they didn't think he had that much time. Thus, my callous comment about how it would soon be over.

I loved Jake, but I was so tired. When you deal with shit like this, you get to a point where you've given so much that you run out of patience and kindness. You snap at people, even the one you're losing. Sometimes you snap the worst at them. A resentment builds along with the fear. Anger that they're leaving you. Often it's simply that you're so exhausted, you can't hold back the brutal truths that you'd normally never utter. Being that bone-weary can make you mad in both definitions of the word. You yell, then cry. Start a fight with a total stranger, then faint. All sorts of insanity. Then you feel terrible for whatever you've done. It was a vicious cycle that kept taking you around the crazy carousel to experience it all over again. I couldn't take much more. I needed to get off this ride.

Every time I walked into his hospital room, Jake looked worse. For a few seconds, his eyes would light up like they used to whenever he saw me, but then a terrible sadness would fill them. He was tired too. Beyond fighting. I could see the acceptance in his eyes. Jake was ready to die. I wasn't sure if my visits helped or hurt him. But I had to go. I'd hate myself forever if I abandoned him at the very end.

And yet, that's what Jake was doing to me. Abandoning me. Destroying my dreams of growing old with him and making a family of our own. I wanted that so badly. The Christmases around a fireplace. The scent of chocolate chip cookies permeating the entire house. The laughter of our kids. Gone. All of it would be gone in a few weeks. Maybe days. Could I move on? I didn't know. Once a heart is broken like that, it never beats the same.

“Stop it!” I hissed at myself and stood up. “You're not the one dying. You have to survive and move on? Oh, poor you. Jake has no future. No chance of moving on. He's not abandoning you, you asshole! He's fucking dying!” My voice broke on the last word, and I had to steel myself to keep from crying again.

It was 6:30 in the morning. I had to go straight to the hospital so I could visit with Jake a little before I went to work. Everyone at Gable & Wassen had been great about my situation. They let it go if I was a little late in the morning. But it was a prestigious law firm, and I couldn't keep abusing their pity. I didn't want pity. I wanted to be a lawyer. I had to prove to myself and them I was . . .

“What, Indie?” I huffed at myself. “Are you really going to be a fucking cliché? The poor little orphan who has to prove to everyone that she's not worthless. That her mother must have been a crack whore or a crazy person to abandon her at the hospital. Or maybe she was just a kid. A kid who didn't know what to do with a baby,” I whispered that last part with a tinge of hope. “But it doesn't matter. Because I'm going to be just fine. Without her, Jake, or any family. All I need is me.”

With that, I wiped my tears away and headed for the front door of my apartment. I could do this. I'd see this through, be by Jake's side until the end, and then I'd go back to being alone. No problem.