Dawn
The clinic was quieter than I expected.
Not silent, machines hummed softly, shoes squeaked against the polished floor, nurses spoke in low voices, but there was a calm to it that made everything feel heavier somehow. Like the building itself knew why people came here.
Earl walked beside me, shoulders a little tense, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. He looked smaller here. Younger. Not weak just human in a way that made my chest ache.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
He nodded, but it wasn't convincing. "Yeah. Just… tired."
I reached out, brushing my hand against his arm, letting him decide. He laced his fingers with mine almost immediately, grip tight.
"I'm really glad you're here," he said, eyes fixed on the floor.
"I'm not going anywhere," I replied. "Not today. Not any day."
We checked in, sat in the waiting area. Earl bounced his knee restlessly, staring at the wall like he was bracing himself. I leaned closer, lowering my voice.
"Hey," I said. "Look at me."
He turned, eyes flicking up.
"You've been doing this every day," I continued. "Even on the days it scares you. Even when you're exhausted. That's not nothing."
He gave a small shrug. "I don't feel brave."
"You don't have to feel brave to be brave," I said. "You just have to show up. And you do. Every single time."
That made his jaw tighten. He looked away, blinking a little too fast.
When they called his name, his grip on my hand tightened again.
"I'll be right here," I told him. "Same chair. Same spot."
He nodded, taking a breath before standing. "Okay."
Waiting was the hardest part.
I watched the clock, listened to the quiet, imagined him in the room with the machines, the tests, the questions he hated answering. I thought about how many times he'd done this alone before I came.
It made my chest hurt.
When he finally came back out, he looked drained. Pale. Like the day had already taken too much from him.
I stood immediately. "Hey."
He walked straight into me, forehead pressing against my shoulder instinctively for just a second before pulling back, embarrassed.
"You did great," I said softly.
"I don't know about great," he muttered.
I smiled, lifting a hand to his cheek. "You showed up. You stayed. You finished. That counts."
We walked out together slowly, matching his pace. Outside, the sunlight was bright, almost too bright. He squinted, then laughed weakly.
"I hate how tired this makes me."
"I know," I said. "But I'm really proud of you."
He stopped walking and looked at me then, really looked at me. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true," I replied. "And because you deserve to hear it."
He swallowed, nodding. "It helps. Hearing it."
I squeezed his hand. "Good. Then I'll keep saying it."
We headed back toward the apartment, his steps slow but steadier now, leaning just slightly into my side.
He was still tired. The treatment was still hard.
But he wasn't doing it alone anymore.
And every day he chose to keep going I'd be right there, reminding him just how strong that choice was.