Callum stood facing the rack of their clothes. He was amazed at how quickly their parents had occupied their new home, with his and her belongings arranged before they could step in. His mind dissolved into mist; a bitter cackle caught in his throat.
"Wearing my clothes???" He paused, took a deep inhale, and let out a long exhale.
"This woman had the attitude of a conqueror. She was no longer the Seraphine I remembered."
He pulled a crisp, oversized white shirt and a pair of trousers from the hanger. His non-favorites, clean-pressed and formal, were tossed onto the edge of the marble vanity. Then he went to the drawers and picked out a pair of white undergarments for her.
"It's out," he called, his voice loud enough to carry the sound over the running water.
The water shut off instantly.
A moment later, the frosted glass door shifted open. Sera stepped out, droplets of water shining on her collarbones. She didn't bother covering up. Instead, she said, "Darling, dry me up."
"Are you a child?" But he still went to grab a towel and cover her. He kept sighing as he wiped her body, while she stared at him with her dark, unglimmering eyes.
"How about my hair?" Sera added.
"Can't you just wait?"
Callum went to grab the blower and, on the verge of revenge, blew her hair messily, sometimes pulling some of it, but she never showed any pain.
"HEY YOU!"
"I am not, hey. Call me darling." She immediately interrupted.
"NEVER."
Then, knowing he could not get any angry words from her. He dried her hair faster, and even without her command, he loosened her towel and put her bra on her as if he knew what she was up to.
"You seemed expert on doing things like this. Have you and Dahlia keeps doing things?"
He stopped and pulled the bra handles tightly. "NO, because unlike us, our relationship is built on respect and waiting."
Sera didn't answer.
He then picked up his shirt, sliding her arms into the sleeves. The cuffs covered her hands, and the hem fell mid-thigh, turning his professional wear into a statement of casual dominance.
"So should I put this too?"
Sera stood and grabbed the underwear from him. "I'll do it." And as she put it on, she added, "I suddenly found my shame."
He slowly turned his head away while Sera wore his trousers, looking at him. "Why are you turning away?"
"Doing a neck exercise."
She then slowly buttoned her pants, keeping her dark eyes on his reflection in the mirror. "It fits well," she said, smoothing the fabric down her hips. "Though I think it looks better on me than it ever did on you."
Callum didn't respond to the provocation. Instead, he checked his watch once more. "The car will be downstairs in twenty minutes. If you aren't ready by then, I'm leaving without you."
"You wouldn't dare," she teased with a sharp edge of intrigue in her tone.
"Try me."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the suite, letting the heavy door click shut behind him. The cool corridor air hit his face like a splash of cold water.
Downstairs, a sleek black sedan was waiting, its engine idling softly.
"Uncle Tom, I will take it from here." The old gentleman gently nodded, and Callum slid into the driver's seat, leaning his head against the chilled leather upholstery. He closed his eyes, listening to the even ticking of his watch.
Ten minutes later, the car door opened. Sera entered and sat in the seat beside him.
"Darling, let's go."
The fragrance of his own cologne, mixed with her skin, flooded the car's interior. She wore no makeup. Her hair was pinned back haphazardly, yet she looked untouchable and entirely unapologetic.
"HMMM..." He sighed and fixed his hands on the steering wheel.
---
The hospital lobby hummed with the hygienic efficiency of white noise.
Sera walked beside Callum with an unhurried grace.
They reached the specialized oncology and hematology wing on the third floor. The air there scatters smells of antiseptic and strongly embedded anxiety.
And there she was.
DAHLIA.
She stood near the window at the end of the hall. Her arms folded firmly over her chest, holding herself together. Her eyes, usually so alive, were rimmed with red, shadowed by a sleepless night. When she heard footsteps approaching, her head whipped up.
Her lips parted, and she took an instinctive half-step forward. Her look locked on Callum with a wordless plea for comfort. She had lived through hell waiting for this day, and seeing him was like catching salvation.
Then her eyes dropped.
They fell past his broad shoulders to the woman standing beside him. She was wearing his shirt, carrying his scent, and standing with a proprietary ease which required no introduction.
The color drained from Dahlia's face. The silence that arose between them was sharper than any scalpel.
Callum endured a tightness in his chest. All his instincts urged him to bridge the distance, to embrace Dahlia and reassure her that everything would be okay. He understood the suffering she had faced, the innumerable nights spent hoping for a match for her mother's bone marrow, the overwhelming fear of losing the only family member she had left. His spirit reached out to her.
'Go to her,' a voice inside him urged. 'Go to her, she needs you now.'
He took a half-step forward, but his muscles tightened him to a halt.
"Callum," Dahlia breathed, her voice cracking slightly, the sound fracturing his fortitude.
That one syllable became a conflict zone. It called forth every recollection of what might have existed. But then, a faint shift occurred at his side.
Sera didn't hold onto his arm or speak to rouse him. She walked past him and headed directly to the preparation room where the doctor was waiting.
Callum froze.
The conflict inside him surged fiercely. The intense desire to provide Dahlia with refuge clashed with the man he is. But he needed no teacher to know what must be done. Thus, he shifted his gaze to the ring on his finger.
Callum locked his jaw. He forced his weight back, squaring his shoulders, and crushed the longing down into the dark corners of his chest.
He strode past her and, in an effort to sound composed, he said, "Dahlia, we should go."
Dahlia registered the message of the moment. A devastating unacceptance replaced the shimmer within her gaze. She pulled back, wrapping her hands tighter around each other as if trying to shield her bruised soul.
And before anything went ugly, Dr. Vance stepped out of the room, flipping open a heavy chart filled with lab readouts and bone marrow biopsy slides.
"Mr. and Mrs. Virell and Ms. Moore," the doctor greeted grimly, perceiving the tense assembly. "Let's go over the prep for today."
Dahlia held herself. Her voice was shivering as she addressed the physician. "Doctor... walk us through it again. I have to make sure I understand everything before we start the conditioning."
Dr. Vance acknowledged professionally. "As you're aware, your mother's condition initially started as High-Risk Myelodysplastic Syndrome. It is a blood disorder in which the stem cells in her bone marrow gradually ceased producing healthy blood cells. In recent months, it has rapidly advanced into Secondary Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Her bone marrow is essentially failing, rendering her body vulnerable to infections and incapable of transporting oxygen or controlling bleeding."
The doctor tapped the chart glass. "Due to her age, a standard chemotherapy alone won't work. Her bone marrow is too fragile to recover on its own, and the leukemia cells are too resistant. That is why an allogeneic hematopoietic stem cell transplant or a bone marrow transplant is her only remaining curative option."
"What does today entail?" Callum asked, his voice composed, masking the internal storm.
"Today marks the beginning of the conditioning phase," Dr. Vance explained. "We will administer intensive chemotherapy and, if necessary, targeted radiation to clear out her diseased bone marrow and suppress her immune system. This creates a clean slate so her body won't reject the donor stem cells. Once the conditioning is over the next few days, we will infuse the healthy, matched donor stem cells intravenously. Those new cells will travel through her bloodstream, find their way into her bone marrow cavities, and begin rebuilding a brand-new, healthy immune and blood-producing system from the ground up."
Dahlia listened, tears finally spilling over her lashes as the hope of the procedure descended on her.
Sera offered a civil, composed nod, her thumb lightly turning the ring on Callum's finger.
"Thank you, doctor," Sera said smoothly.
"Let's do this all the way," she added.
Callum cast one final look toward Dahlia and said, "Everything will go well."