The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 244

Chapter 123-2

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“After today, we give Zara’s body time to reset,” Dr. Mercer explains, looking between the two of us. “The drugs will stay in her system working over the next couple of weeks. She’ll have the usual post-chemo fatigue and side effects for the next few days…. which I know you both know how to manage well by now. Then, we let her rest for about three weeks.”

She reaches across her desk, tapping a button on her tablet to bring up a calendar, pointing to a date near the end of the month.

“At the four-week mark, we’ll bring you back in for a full suite of diagnostic testing,” Dr. Mercer continues. “We’ll run a comprehensive blood panel, and more importantly, we’ll do a high-resolution PET scan and an MRI.”

A cold prickle of fear traces its way down my spine at the word scan. Scan anxiety is a very real, suffocating thing. It’s the terrifying gap between finishing the fight and finding out if the fight actually

worked.

“And what are we looking for on those scans?” I ask, my fingers tightening in the hem of my sweater.

Dr. Mercer looks me straight in the eye, her warm expression steady and reassuring.

“We’re looking for total metabolic resolution, Zara. In short and put very simply, we’re looking to confirm that the treatment has driven the cancer into full remission.”

Remission.

The word hangs in the quiet air of the office, delicate and heavy, like a glass ornament suspended by a single thread. It’s the word I’ve prayed for in the middle of the night when the nausea wouldn’t let me sleep.

It’s the word Locke has held in his heart every time he’s held my hair back, every time he’s carried me to bed, every time he’s sat in the dark watching me breathe.

I feel a sudden tear escape the corner of my eye, slipping hot and silent down my cheek.

“And if…” I start, my voice catching slightly on the words I’m almost too afraid to speak aloud. “If I’m not in remission? What happens then?”

Dr. Mercer doesn’t flinch or look away. Her eyes remain entirely steady, filled with a deep, pragmatic compassion. She leans forward, resting her forearms on the desk.

“If the scans show that the cancer hasn’t fully cleared, Zara, it simply means we haven’t reached the finish line yet. It doesn’t mean the fight is over,” Dr. Mercer says calmly. “If that happens, we pivot.”

“How?”

“We start a new round of treatment, and we modify the drug combination, or maybe we adjust the dosage. There are always other avenues, and we have plenty of options left in our arsenal.”

I sigh and nod. “Okay.”

“But I want you to hear me clearly: you are not to worry about that yet.” She offers a gentle, reassuring

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smile “We haven’t ever given your body a chance to show us what this round has accomplished. Take it one step at a time.

I let out a slow, trembling breath, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a fraction at her words. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a plan It means there’s always a way forward, no matter what. Even if that way is yet an other round chemo.

Locke stands up now, his massive arm coming up to wrap firmly around my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side. I lean into him instantly, resting my face against the warm, solid expanse of his chest.

He doesn’t say anything to interrupt Dr. Mercer, but his hand cradles the back of my head, his long fingers gently smoothing down my hair, keeping me calm and grounded.

“I know it’s frightening, Zara,” Dr. Mercer says softly. “The waiting period after chemo ends can feel harder than the treatment itself, because you feel like you aren’t ‘doing’ anything to fight it anymore. But resting is fighting. Letting your body rebuild its immune system is part of the cure.”

“I just… I want my life back, Dr. Mercer.” I wipe the wetness from my cheek with the back of my sleeve, taking a deep, shaky breath that fills my lungs. “I want to live. I have so much! still want to do.”

I feel Locke’s chest expand beneath my cheek, a quiet, deep breath rattling through his lungs. His hand squeezes the back of my neck gently, a silent, fierce promise passing between us:

You are going to live. We are going to live.

“I know you do. And looking at you today – looking at the fight in your eyes, and the incredible support system you have standing right beside you – I have every reason to be optimistic. You are strong, Zara.”

“We’re going to get through the next few weeks,” Locke says softly, his deep voice meant only for me, though Dr. Mercer hears it too. “One day at a time, baby. Just like we’ve done every day before this.”

“That’s right,” Dr. Mercer says. “Exactly right.”

She stands up from her desk, smoothing down the front of her white lab coat. The moment of quiet conversation folds away, yielding to the practical reality of the morning, but the air in the room feels lighter

now.

The heavy, dark fog of terror that usually accompanies these hospital visits has shifted, making room for something fragile, golden, and stubborn:

Hope.

“Alright,” Dr. Mercer says. “The nurses have set up Bay 4 for you. Your bag is mixed and waiting, and Sarah’s ready to place your IV line.”

She steps over to the office door and pulls it open, holding it wide for us.

Locke slides off the edge of the table first, extending his hands to help me step down onto the floor. My feet hit the linoleum, my knees feeling slightly weak from the rush of emotion. Locke’s arm wraps firmly around my waist, keeping me steady and supported before I can even wobble.

I look up at him, meeting his gaze. There’s no fear in his eyes, only that unshakeable, boulder-like resolve that’s kept me grounded through the worst months of my life.

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He presses his forehead against mine for one brief, quiet second in the doorway, his warm breath fanning across my skin.

“Last one,” he whispers against my lips. “You got this, baby.”

“Last one,” I whisper back, a real, strong smile breaking across my face for the first time all morning. “And I sure as hell do.”

Dr. Mercer steps into the hallway ahead of us, gesturing down the quiet, sunlit corridor toward the infusion

suite.

‘Shall we finish this, Zara?” she asks.

I take a deep breath, slipping my hand firmly into Locke’s massive palm, feeling his fingers fold completely over mine, hot and protective.

You are goddamn right we will,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Together, the three of us walk down the hall toward the chemo room.

Maybe for the last time.

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