Before It All Fades

Author’s Note / Trigger Warning.

This story addresses sensitive themes that may be emotionally challenging for some readers.

Throughout this book, you will find:

Serious illness (Cancer)

Oncological treatment (Chemotherapy, hospitalizations, and medical exams)

Fear of loss, physical and emotional fragility

The experience of supporting a loved one through treatment

Moments of pain, distress, and vulnerability

If you have faced cancer, lived with someone going through it, or lost someone to the disease, this story may evoke intense memories and emotions.

Please read with care and respect your emotional limits. Taking breaks is encouraged, and there is no obligation to continue if it feels too heavy.

Despite these themes, this is a story about love, support, and hope—not about gratuitous suffering.

Please take care of yourself while reading.

Ethan Hartley.

The pencil glides across the paper with the same calm as the waves I try to remember. I draw the sea because it’s the only way to feel it again. It has been eight years since the last time I saw it up close, before the cancer appeared for the first time.

I was sixteen when they discovered the tumor in my stomach. The first few months were a nightmare: tests, surgeries, and chemotherapy. I thought it would be the end. Thank God, I managed to recover.

During the surgery, part of my stomach was removed. It was painful, but it worked. Unfortunately, I can’t go through the same procedure again. My body wouldn’t survive another gastrectomy; there would be very little healthy tissue left.

That’s why, now, the doctors try to control the disease with medication and alternative therapies.

They were dark years, but also years of learning. When the disease went into remission, I made the most of every second: I worked at a restaurant, was promoted until I became a manager, went out with friends, and visited simple and beautiful places.

I wanted to believe I was cured.

Until the day I collapsed from pain.

The cancer had returned.

In the same place.

Since then, for the past two years, my life has been a back-and-forth between tests, appointments, and treatments. The hospital has become a second home—cold, but predictable.

The walls are too white; the smell of alcohol mixes with the sound of machines and conversations echoing through the corridors.

I take a deep breath, looking at the drawing of the sea. I miss the scent of salt and the sound of the waves. Here, all I hear are hurried footsteps and doctors calling out patients’ names.

Today I managed to come alone. I had to insist a lot. My mother would have come with me, as always—anxious, pacing back and forth, biting her lips, and asking the doctor questions even before the results were out.

I chuckle as I imagine the scene. I know she loves me, but sometimes her care feels suffocating.

I rest the pencil on the table and look toward the window. The sun shines outside, free.

"I wish I could go to the beach so badly."

The door opens abruptly. I almost drop the pencil. A man in a suit appears in the doorway, sweating, breathing fast, with the expression of someone running from something.

"Sorry for barging in like this."

He glances down the hallway and quickly shuts the door.

"But there isn’t some crazy female doctor around here, right?"

I frown.

"No… I don’t think so."

He exhales in relief.

"Thank God. She’s a menace. She wanted to stab me with that missile. Have you seen the size of that needle? That thing is not from God! I rebuke it."

I laugh, and he rolls his eyes.

"A big man like you afraid of a needle?"

"Hey!" He pretends to be offended. "Don’t joke about that. That thing is a lethal weapon."

"I know all about it." I point to my arm, where old marks remain. "I’m always getting poked."

He smiles softly.

"Then you understand my suffering. It’s horrible."

He takes a few steps and looks around.

"Can I sit here for a minute?"

I nod, and he pulls the chair beside me.

"Thanks. I’m Gabriel Morgan." He holds out his hand.

I shake his hand, smiling, and introduce myself.

"Ethan Hartley."

"Nice to meet you, Ethan."

"The pleasure is mine, Gabriel."

Silence settles between us for a few seconds—light, almost comfortable. Suddenly, he scratches the back of his neck and lets out a quiet laugh.

"Sorry about the awkward silence."

"Don’t worry about it," I reply, amused.

He smiles, and his eyes fall to the drawing on the table.

"Wow… you draw really well." He picks up the sheet carefully, studying every line. "Why the sea?"

I watch the way he holds the paper—attentive, sincere. Up close, he’s even more handsome: tan skin, dark hair combed to the side, and light brown eyes that seem to change color depending on the light. His face is well-defined and clean-shaven, and the suit enhances every line of his body. I look away for a moment before answering.

"Because I like the sea. It’s calm, the smell of salt is nice… and the wind." I smile. "The wind is wonderful."

When I look at him again, I notice he’s still watching me. There’s something in his gaze that makes me feel shy, as if he wants to understand more than what I’m saying. He offers a faint smile.

"Yes, the sea really is beautiful." He looks back at the other drawings.

I’m surprised. Usually, people ask why I don’t go to the beach if I like it so much. Before he can say anything else, the door opens and a female doctor appears in the doorway.

"There you are, Mr. Morgan."

Gabriel lets out a sigh.

"I don’t want to go, Ethan; help me."

His expression is so sincere that I have to hold back a laugh. The doctor rolls her eyes.

"Come on, Gabriel. I don’t have all day."

"Very professional, as always, Emma." He stands up, still grumbling, and hands the drawing back to me. "They’re beautiful, Ethan. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure was mine. Have fun with the needles."

"Very funny." He mutters, snorting. "Making fun of my fear."

I burst out laughing, and he smiles before leaving. The room falls silent again, and I stare at the drawing on the table. The lines seem more alive than before.

The door opens once more. For a second, I think it’s him coming back again, but my smile fades when I see my doctor’s face. I let out a sigh and straighten my posture, already bracing myself for news that rarely comes good.

"Good afternoon, Ethan." He closes the door calmly and holds a folder. "I have your test results."

My stomach tightens even before he continues.

"For now, it’s nothing serious," he says, opening the papers. "The tumor is still at stage one. That’s good. It means the treatment is keeping everything under control."

I nod in silence.

"But I want you to keep following the recommendations strictly," he adds. "No acidic, greasy, or fried foods. And avoid excesses. Your body is sensitive."

"Understood."

The doctor takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Ethan, I need to be honest. If there’s progression to stage two, the risk increases a lot. In those cases, the cancer often advances straight to stage four, without an interval. So we need to do everything right now, okay?"

I nod again, trying to keep my expression steady. There’s nothing to say. All I can do is ask God to help me one more time, to let the treatment work, for my body to hold on, for me to win again.

I thank the doctor and take the envelope with the results. He gives my shoulder a light pat before leaving.

I walk down the brightly lit hallway, watching people come and go—doctors, patients, and nurses. I try to take a deep breath, to focus on anything that isn’t fear. When I pass by an infusion room, the door is slightly open.

I look without thinking and freeze when I recognize Gabriel being held by two nurses.

Dr. Emma stands beside him, holding the syringe with complete calm.

"Emma, no! Wait! We can talk about this!" he pleads, trying to break free.

She administers the injection with precision, and his scream echoes down the hallway.

I can’t hold it in and end up laughing out loud, drawing the attention of people passing by.

Gabriel sees me, still restrained, and rolls his eyes. I give him an amused wave and, between laughs, mouth only:

"Good luck."

He tries to look indignant, but his eyes give away a half-smile.

I walk away, still laughing, feeling the lightness of it mix with the familiar ache in my stomach.

Even with the results in my hands, the pain feels smaller.

Maybe it’s because of that man who’s terrified of needles.