One morning about two weeks after Augustus's funeral, I woke up with a shortness of breath, struggling with every intake.

I called my parents into my room, not 15 minutes later I was in the car, being rushed to the hospital.

This was just like the weeks before we went to Amsterdam. Just this time, I didn't have Gus to look forward too.

I figured, as usual, I had more fluid in my lungs preventing me to breathe less-suckish. As time went on, I kept thinking back to the last time I was going to the hospital. But Gus couldn't sneak into the room when my parents weren't there. This saddened me greatly.

I miss him. I still do, and I always will. I can't say the word "Okay" without tearing up. Everything reminded me of him. And I thought I was the grenade.

So here I am, laying in the same old bed, listening to the same old sounds. The beeping of the monitors, the coughing of other patients. Smelling the good old smell of hospital. Boy do I hate this place.

My parents sit next to the bed, obviously in deep thought, while I lean back and stare at the same old ceiling. They're running about a million tests, some the same old ones, some very brand new ones.

I'm not sure what the new tests are for, but I assume to make sure I don't have any new cancers. My lungs already suck at being lungs, I don't want any other parts of my body to suck at their job.

I just sit back and pray for no new tumor growth and no more than the usual fluids in my lungs.

I woke up to my father shaking my arm. I must have drifted off. I don't know exactly how much time has passed. I assume an hour at the least.

After the blur of my vision fades, I see the doctor standing at the foot of my bed, chart in hand. Smiling. Maybe we won't get bad news today.

"Hello, Hazel, Mr. & Mrs. Lancaster." She spoke, shaking mine and my parents hands.

"Hi." I say, still not smiling, still half a sleep.

My parents, obviously in a hurry, at the same time say, "So? bad news?"

"Well, actually," she begins "good news. No tumor growth. No new fluids in her lungs. But, there is one thing we weren't expecting." She giggled a little. "Congratulations, Hazel. You're pregnant."

Both of my parents gasped in horror. I remained quite and looked down at my hands. The doctors smile faded.

"I'll give you guys sometime. I'll be back shortly." Se muttered.

"Amsterdam.." I said under my breath. I continually picked at my nails, waiting for one of my parents to speak up. No one said anything. The room was silent. I didn't know what to say.

I, myself, had unexpected that.

"So.." My dad said.

"I, um.." I muttered. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" My mother spoke up.

"Yeah, that's what I said." I retorted.

"Sorry? Hazel Grace, how could you be 'Sorry'?"

"Well, mom, it's not like I intended for this to happen."

"You, know what?" My dad cut in. "We'll talk about this at home. Right now, let's focus on getting there first."

Why was he so calm? Out of the two of them I'd thought he'd be the one to flip.

A half an hour later the doctor came back in the room. She, less smiley, explained how they were gonna keep me over night and release me in the morning. They want to monitor my breathing for the next twelve hours.

Shortly after, my parents left. I was half expecting Gus to come waltzing into the room, making things a little bit brighter, but that wasn't going to happen.

If he were here, he'd probably be over the moon. Nonetheless, he'd question me constantly on how I'm breathing and how I'm feeling, but I wouldn't mind the slightest.

And then I realized.

He's not here. It's me. Only me. Obviously my parents aren't happy, and probably want me to be rid of this child for my health and well-being, but you see, I'm not healthy. I'm sick. And I always will be. So, no matter what they say, I'm not "getting rid" of this baby. It's my last connection to Gus. I won't let go of it.

After a long night of no sleep and a lot of thinking, I finally get to go home. I was beyond ready. I wanted to sleep in my bed.

My parents came around noon, and guess what? Silence. On the way out of the hospital, and the whole way home. It wasn't the "nice relaxing" kind of silent either. It was the "so awkward I'm gonna fall a sleep" silent.

When we pulled into the drive way, I grabbed my oxygen tank and made my way to through the front door. I didn't wait. My mother trailing me, she grabbed my shoulder. I spun around.

"Hazel, we have to talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it. I want to go to bed. I didn't sleep all night."

"Hazel-"

"No." I started for the staircase.

"HAZEL GRACE!" She yelled after me. I didn't stop. "HAZEL GRACE, HOW COULD YOU?!"

I stopped dead in my tracks, and turned around slowly.

"MOM, I-"

"DO UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH YOURE AT RISK? YOUR LIFE, HAZEL. YOUR HEALTH, YOUR WELL-BEING?"

"MOM, I KNOW WHAT IM DOING, OKAY? I KNOW IM PUTTING MYSELF AT RISK BY CARRYING THIS BABY, BUT ITS THE ONLY THING I HAVE LEFT OF AUGUSTUS. SO, MOM, YOU DONT UNDERSTAND."

The expression on her face faded. My bottom lip quivered, and a single tear ran down my cheek. I ran down the stairs to my bedroom, eyes blurry.

I layed back into my pillow. My hands covering my face, I could hear the muffled argument upstairs. They were shouting back and fourth. I couldn't make out their words.

My dad eventually came down the stairs and sat at my bedside. I wrapped my arms around his torso and buried my head into his shoulder.

He kissed the top of my head and rubbed my back. "Hey." He murmured. "Listen to me," he pulled me out of his shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. I know what this little one means to you, and I'm going to fully support you through, Hazel. I talked to your mother. She's stubborn as always, but she's gonna support you too."

I smiled. He wiped the year from under my eye.

"Thanks dad." I said, smiling.

He smiled. "Now, you get some rest. I want you to stay as healthy as you can."

I laughed. He returned upstairs. I made myself as comfortable as possible.

I set my hand on my lower abdomen, and smiled more. "Your dad may not be here, sunshine, but you'll know all about him. I'll make sure of it. I'll try my best to get through the next nine or so months the best I can. I love you, sunshine."

"I know you're up there somewhere, Gus. I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."