They both sat still. Didn’t move a muscle. Waiting for results. At first, he didn’t want to know. Thought they would be better off, not knowing. Too much anxiety. Nerves were built up.

But she wanted the diagnosis either way. If he was cleared, good. If he wasn’t, they would work on it together.

He was tired of throwing up all the time. Scared when his piss was red. At first, he tried to hide it. Didn’t tell her. Didn’t even tell his doctor. But it kept getting worse. Tired all the time. No energy. He knew his days of keeping it a secret would end soon; either act now or die.

The room was cold. They held each other’s hand. Outside he could see the city. Churches, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, condos, all lined between trees. The husband looked at the library where he used to go as a kid to read in the afternoons. He climbed the concrete lions out in front of the building; jumped off and skinned his knees. His first introduction to bleeding. He laughed. It all comes to this, he told her. Waiting. The waiting, she held his hand tighter.

The doctor entered the room.