Author's Note: Why am I writing sad chapters?

Please review! It helps me update quicker!

Also, this chapter was written with the help of a friend of mine: Faithful MageWhisperer. Without her writing every other paragraph with me and pushing me to get this done, I wouldn't have. It's a tough chapter, but enjoy!

God Bless,

Sarah

Sandra was becoming quite worried. The nurses had been talking amongst themselves for hours now, and the doctor hadn't left Keith's side since he arrived- running tests and mumbling under his breath. Henry was comforting his wife as best he could, but she was too scared to calm down- what was going on with her baby? Her precious boy had something wrong with him, and all she wanted to know was what. Sandra could hear her husband's words of comfort - but she could also clearly hear the underlying tone of fear and helplessness in Henry's voice. He was terrified, as much as she was ... and yet there was a huge difference in how they felt. Henry was Keith's father and loved the tiny boy dearly. Sandra, on the other hand, was Keith's mother. She had carried him nine months under her heart, had breathed for him, eaten for him, had done everything to assure his well-being and safety ... she had failed her baby. He wasn't well, he wasn't safe ... he wasn't whole. If this lump under his arm had merely been the outcome of an accident, the doctors would have told them so long ago and released Keith with a strict warning to his parents to be more careful. The fact that they hadn't was frightening. Whatever was wrong with her baby was very, very serious. Silent tears began to cascade down her cheeks, falling onto her intertwined hands. The first few were absorbed by her skin but soon the pouring was too much and the water ran down the sides of her hands. Water meant life, always had. How she wished that somehow her tears could heal her baby. The only really coherent thought she could form, though, was 'Don't let him die. I can't lose my baby'. She wasn't aware that the silent mantra in her head had turned into a quietly repeated stammer - not until Henry answered her brokenly: "I promise, you won't." She looked up then, blinking to get her tears out of her eyes and somewhat focus on her husband. She felt gratitude rising in her chest, paired with a deep love. Her rock was here to stabilize her, to keep her from being swept away by the sea of her despair.

"He is our life and he will be for the rest of our lives," Henry continued as quietly as before.

Her mind desperately clung to his words, wanting - no, needing to believe them. But before she could bring her tired mind to formulate an answer, the doctor opened the door to Keith's room and stepped outside. His gaze fell on the bereaved parents and both Henry and Sandra could see the heart-breaking truth in his eyes before it was spoken.

"No," it was a mother's desperate plea to lie to her, to tell her that her baby would be fine. She was unable to comprehend otherwise.

"Mrs. Zetterstrom, we have to operate ..."

"NO!" As if saying it louder would change the truth.

"Mrs. Zetterstrom, please, there is ..."

"He will be fine," she told the doctor with all the conviction in her broken heart. Then she turned on her husband, feeling betrayed in some way. "You told me so."

"Sandra, darling, we have to listen. Please." His voice was so small, his eyes pleading with her to see reason - for their son's sake.

She couldn't. She couldn't hear it. If she didn't hear it, then it wasn't true. Everything would be alright in the end, everything would go back to normal. She resolutely pushed her way past the doctor towards her son's room. "You talk to him then. I will be with Keith." With that she opened the door and disappeared - into her world of denial.

The doctor took in a deep breath and turned to face Henry, with a look that beseeched Henry to listen to him. Henry straightened up, standing as tall as possible, and swallowing thickly and awaiting what the doctor would say next.

"Mr. Zetterstrom, I'm sorry I was so abrupt with your wife- it doesn't seem I'd have been able to get a word in edgewise," he offered the slightest of smiles, and Henry returned the same sort of upturn of the lips.

"We examined the lumps under your son's arms. I apologize for the wait, but we had to wait to get results, and we even asked them that we needed them immediately. The first round came back with the diagnosis of childhood Leukemia."

The doctor stopped there and watched Henry as his features changed, his face all but crumbled into a breakdown, and he sucked in a deep breath. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; he didn't want to. But Henry was logical- religious, yes, but very logical. He needed to know what steps they would take next, and how he could break this to Sandra.

"What do we do now, doctor…"

"McBane," the older man finished. "Doctor McBane. Mr. Zetterstrom, the best thing we could do right now is a Bone Marrow transplant. You'd have to sign for it, and find matches, so if that's the route we're going to take then I highly recommend we begin searching for matches immediately."

A bit of anger forced its way into Henry. "Well of course that's the route we will be taking! We won't let our child die!" He all but growled.

Doctor McBane merely nodded, having dealt with angry and doubtful parents before.

"Very well. Come back with me so you can see your son, and so we can speak with your wife. We will begin by testing you both and any other close family members that you can call."

Henry nodded and followed the doctor back to the room they were holding Keith in. They walked down many hallways, hitting the large square buttons to open the hospital doors, and breathing in the smell of pure alcohol. Henry winced at the sound of screaming patients- elderly men, women in labor, children. He wondered what the children were screaming for. Would the Bone Marrow transplant hurt his son? He shivered and shook the thought away- he had to be strong for his wife and child and he couldn't do that if he was battling his own doubts. When they finally arrived at the door to Keith's room, it was already cracked open and Sandra was sitting next to the small cot they kept their child in, letting him grip her pointer finger loosely. Tears were cascading down her face, and before he knew it, they were falling from his own eyes as he caught sight of his child. The same tubes, and blood pressure cuff were on his son, except everything was smaller than normal. Preemie nose pieces were inserted to give him oxygen to help him breath in the thick hospital air, with the mass they had also found on his lung constricting his breathing, and small little tubes ran from the I.V. as thin as a plump sewing thread.

He was just so, so small.

So, so fragile.

The doctor behind Henry closed the door quietly. Even the small sound of the lock falling into place was enough to disturb the perfect silence in the room. Sandra looked up, her eyes turning hard and cold. Her baby moved a little and gripped her pointer finger tighter, drawing her attention back to him. "Sh, sh, sweetheart. Mummy's here." Age old words spoken from one generation to the other - never had they been truer. She would stay by her son's side as long as he needed her. His eyes fluttered but didn't open. With her other pointer finger she lovingly caressed his small cheek, careful not to disturb the tubes. She softly traced his lips, blue with oxygen destitution. Sandra had to admit to herself, as heart-wrenching as it was, that her baby wasn't fine. She braced herself to hear what she had to hear to fully be able to help Keith to the best of her abilities. When she looked up this time, her eyes were only pleading to break the news to her gently.

Henry stepped forward, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders, looking down at his son. Sandra could feel his warmth behind her, reassuring, helping to keep the coldness of this place away from them.

"Are you ready?" He asked gently, fully aware that she might need time to compose herself.

Smiling weakly, she nodded.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I reckon," she admitted quietly. "What is wrong with our son?"

"The lumps are not from an accident."

"I knew that, Henry. We were always so careful and never let him out of our sight - except when he slept." She looked up at him. Now that she had made the decision to face the truth, she wanted to get over it as fast as possible.

Henry sensed her anxiety and impatience. Drawing a deep breath, he held it for a moment then let it out slowly. "The lumps are the first sign of childhood leukemia."

The words hung in the room, heavy and cruel. Sandra had gone completely quiet. No sound came from her. Henry was afraid to look down into her face. He had expected sobs and tearful denials - not this silence. His hands gripped her shoulder more tightly, afraid that he was losing her as well. Hesitantly he directed his gaze downwards. Her eyes were closed tightly shut, her lips compressed into a thin line and her skin had lost all color. Her breathing was irregular and racked but not yet sobs. He could see that she was desperately trying to compose herself. He knew exactly what she went through. His own feelings came rushing in, suffocating him, pulling him under in a blind panic.

"There is hope. We haven't lost him yet, Sandra. He will be fine. Doctor McBone says he needs a bone marrow transplant. That will help." The words came rushing out, trying to reassure her and himself. Hope is the last thing to die. He wasn't sure where he had heard it, but it was certainly true in his case.

Sandra stood silently, letting Henry's hands slide down her shoulders. Instead of rushing off fleeing the scene in denial and panic as she had done before, she now turned around to face her husband. Tenderly she encased his face in her hands and drew him closer to her. Gently she touched her lips to his, wrapping her arms around his neck. After a moment she withdrew then touched her forehead to his and closed her eyes again. "Whatever it takes, we will do it."

Neither Henry nor the doctor were sure to whom she had been speaking but they both nodded. The doctor then left the room to retrieve the necessary papers from his office. Henry squared his shoulders, kissed his wife, then said he would step outside to start making calls to their relatives. When Sandra was alone, she resumed her place next to Keith. Her heart had stopped the minute she had heard the diagnosis, then it had started beating again in a frenzy. One thing had become painstakingly clear to her: she was going to lose her baby if she didn't start to act fast.

Tearfully praying to God, she willed her son to live, and placed a tender kiss to his fingertips. With a new sense of strength, she sat there- stoic, awaiting for her husband's return and begging God that a match was found soon for her son's marrow.