The RV was bathed in the soft glow of the dinette lights, a bubble of manufactured normalcy against the deepening twilight outside. Remy was a whirlwind of contented domesticity, humming an unrecognizable tune as she meticulously arranged the RV's small pantry. Theo sat across from her, a paperback novel open in his lap, its pages unread. Every fiber of his being was coiled tight, his mind a relentless hamster wheel of worry and fierce determination.
He had made the call. The wheels were in motion. Now, he waited. The anticipation was a cold, hard knot in his gut, far more agonizing than any physical threat he'd ever faced. When his life had been on the line, the enemy was tangible, the solution a matter of strategy and brute force. This was different. This was Remy. His Remy. Living under a shadow that might not even exist, clinging to a vibrant, desperate joy that was secretly fueled by a medical error. The injustice of it burned through him.
He watched her, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of her neck, the way her blonde hair shimmered under the light. She paused her pantry organization to pull out her phone, her brow furrowed slightly as she scrolled through her "things to eat before I die" list. Her lips moved silently, a small, triumphant smile blooming as she seemed to tick off another item. "You know, Theo," she chirped, looking up, her blue eyes bright with enthusiasm. "I think the next item needs to be something truly outlandish. Like, eating a durian fruit on top of a really tall Ferris wheel. Or maybe tracking down a real, live chupacabra and offering it artisanal goat cheese."
Theo managed a strained smile, his heart aching. "Chupacabras are not real, Remy."
"Oh, you say that now," she teased, "but just wait until you see the sparkle in its eyes when it tastes that aged cheddar." She returned to her list, completely oblivious to the tempest raging within him, the life-altering information he was waiting for.
He loved her boundless energy, her relentless optimism, her utterly unique way of experiencing the world. But now, that very optimism felt fragile, born from a deception. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, to hold her tight, to scream the truth at her, to reassure her that she had decades, generations, of sunsets and pie and chupacabra hunts ahead of her. But he knew he couldn't. Not until he had concrete, undeniable proof. He couldn't give her false hope, nor could he crush her current, albeit misguided, joy with incomplete information. The wait was torture.
His burner phone, lying on the table between them, remained stubbornly silent. He checked the time again. It hadn't been long since his call, but it felt like an eternity. His contacts were efficient, resourceful, but even they needed time to pull medical records and locate a specific doctor, discreetly. He drummed his fingers lightly on the table, the small sound barely audible.
Remy, sensing his unusual tension, finally looked up. Her smile softened, her eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, now held a hint of concern. "Okay, what's going on?" she asked, her voice quiet. "You're doing that thing where your jaw looks like it's trying to escape your face. Is it more bad guys? Because if so, I've just perfected my 'pantry defense' technique. It involves strategically deployed canned goods."
Theo sighed, a long, weary sound. He reached across the table, taking her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her fingers, a familiar, comforting gesture. "No," he said, his voice low, his eyes locking onto hers. He didn't want to lie, not to her, not anymore. "It's… not bad guys. It's just… complicated. Something I need to handle." He squeezed her hand. "It's about you, Remy."
Her eyes widened, a flicker of fear, then a familiar resignation passing through them. He knew she was thinking of her dreaded "Unknown Number" calls, of the news she feared. He saw her brace herself, pulling back slightly, emotionally. He felt a fierce surge of protective love.
"It's not what you think," he quickly added, his voice firm, reassuring. "Just… let me handle it. Trust me."
Remy searched his eyes for a long moment, then slowly nodded, a silent trust passing between them. "Okay," she whispered, her voice still a little shaky. "I trust you, Theo. You're... you're good at handling complicated things. Especially when they involve, you know, explosions or pie pans." A faint, nervous giggle escaped her.
The gentle brush of her thumb against his hand was a lifeline, a reminder of the life he was fighting for. He wanted to confess everything, to tell her about the voicemail, about his call, about the hope that was surging through him. But he had to wait. He had to be absolutely certain.
Just then, his burner phone vibrated. A single, sharp buzz. Theo's heart leaped into his throat. He released Remy's hand, reaching for the phone, his eyes fixed on the screen. It was a new text message. A number he didn't recognize, followed by a single word: "Calling."
He looked at Remy, a new, fierce determination settling in his gaze. This was it. The moment of truth. He just prayed it was the truth he so desperately needed to hear. He pressed the phone to his ear, listening intently, his face grim, yet a flicker of hope, bright and dangerous, began to ignite in his dark eyes.