It's been three days since the relapse. My lungs had filled 75% with fluid, but the doctors were able to pump more then half of the water out. I looked out the glass doors of the room that Gus and I now shared, upon request, and watched the doctor talk to my parents. From what I could see through the glass, my mother was crying into my father's shoulder. They didn't need to tell me, I knew already. I've known for three days, a person learns to recognize the pain from the most excruciating experience in their life. My cancer is back, and there is no way they can stop it, it's too far along. It's the final stretch.