The-Spanish-Love-Deception-www.indianpdf

hospital on my list of medical centers with oncology specialists in Seattle,
and asked in reception for Richard Blackford—a name I had dug out from the
internet from what Aaron had told me about him and his past.
That question kept whirling in my mind as I turned around, got myself
into a new taxi, and repeated the whole process with hospital number two.
Then with hospital number three.
And right as my knees almost doubled with a mix of relief and trepidation
at finally hearing the nurse at the counter of hospital number three ask if I
was family or friend, that question that was stuck in my head was still
screaming at me to be answered.
It still was now as I made my way to the waiting room on what would
soon become the longest elevator ride of my life.
Did I throw it all away out of fear and stupidity? Am I too late?
So, when the polished and metallic doors finally opened, I stumbled out
of the elevator like someone walking out of an interminable road trip. Limbs
numb, skin sticky with dry sweat, and the sense of not knowing where you
were. My gaze anxiously scanned the space along the hallway before me, all
the way to the waiting room, where I had been told he’d probably be—my
Aaron, the man who I had to get to, to get back. And there, right there, sitting
on a chair that barely accommodated his size, was my answer.
With his arms on his knees and his head hanging low between his
shoulders, there was my life-altering moment.
And I realized as I stared into the distance—my heart feeling as
weightless and hollow as ever when I saw him there, alone, without me—that
as long as I had him, my life-altering moment would never be a measurement
of time. It would never be as simple as marking a few points in the timeline
of my life that I could identify as transcendent. It was him. Aaron. He was
my moment. And for as long as I had him, my life would constantly be
changing, be altered. I’d be challenged, cherished, loved. With him, I’d live.
And I’d fight for that. I’d fight for him like I hadn’t when he asked me to.
I wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was stuck with me. Just like he had
promised me in Spain, in front of the people I loved the most in this world.
I’d prove that to him.
“Aaron,” I heard myself say. Let me be your rock. The hand that holds
yours. Your home.
My voice was barely a whisper, too low and quiet to make it all the way
to where he was. But somehow, it did. It reached him. Because Aaron’s head