A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited or followed this story - I realise that my sporadic update schedule needs to change! :)

When I got home, I was ushered into the living room. Stacks of print-outs and leaflets sat on the coffee table, piles so high they were on the verge of collapse.

"Hazel, we need to talk." Dad was perched on the edge of the sofa as I walked in, wringing his hands. Looking closer, I could see he'd bitten his fingernails down, something he only ever did when he was very anxious.

I sat down on the chair opposite him and took a few deep breaths. This situation wasn't something they were taking well.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" I burst out as Mom entered the room. She jolted and spilt coffee down the sides of the two mugs she was carrying.

"We're not asking for apologies, Hazel," Mom said as she sat down next to Dad. "We know what's happened, and we don't want you to be sorry. All we want is to come to an educated decision as to how to continue."

"I'm keeping the baby."

Dad almost spat out his coffee.

"Hazel, are you sure that's the best option?" he asked. "Your mom and I have done some research into it – studies, records, that kind of thing – and it's unlikely you'd…" Tears had already started falling down his face by the time he'd made that far through his sentence.

"Hazel, you'll die if you carry this baby," Mom cuts in, prompting another sob from Dad.

"I'll die if I don't. And I don't mean I'll die in five or ten years' time, either. With or without this baby, I'll die soon, but I'd rather bring something in when I depart. I already told you this."

Looking up, I realised what a state Dad was in over this. I hadn't realised how much it could affect him, but thinking about it I knew that the talk of his daughter dying wasn't something he should ever be faced with. I was making it more complicated with a baby in tow.

Shifting in my seat, I kicked the table and a tsunami of leaflets fell on my feet. I picked one up and flicked through it, then another, then another. They all said the same thing – cancer and pregnancy shouldn't even happen in the first place.

Another said that the chances were that the test was faulty – it was impossible to have cancer and have a baby at the same time. A slightly more colourful one informed me that I would have a miscarriage, so it was almost nothing to worry about. All of them shared two things: the ability to patronise and the ability to scare me.

It wasn't long after that when I decided I'd had enough of the scare tactics, so dragged Philip to my room and shut the door.

.

I scrolled down my contact list, pressed his name then waited for his phone to ring.

"Hi, this is Augustus Waters. I'm otherwise engaged at the moment but feel free to leave a message and I'll call you back."

I could almost hear the smile in his voice, and it hurt.

The phone beeped and I realised that it was recording, then wondered why I was bothered whether there was a pause at the beginning or not. It wasn't like he was ever going to hear it.

"Augustus…" I started, but it was like all the words I'd ever known had dissipated from my mind. "I… Want to hear some brilliant news?"

I looked down, let tears drip from my eyelids and then looked up again. I was surprised I was still able to cry, what with the few rivers I'd already cried today.

"Do you know any good baby names? I'm not sure on gender yet, so just give me a couple lists…"

"I'm pregnant, Augustus. I'm as shocked as you are. Cancer and a baby?"

"Amsterdam. That stupid freaking trip to Amsterdam."

"Mom says I can't keep it. You're okay with keeping it though, right?"

"Apparently the likelihood of either of us – me and the baby, that is – surviving is pretty slim, so no one will have to worry."

"Maybe I should talk to your mom and dad about it."

"Life has just found a new way to screw me over."

I mumbled on and on, still speaking to the phone, to the Augustus that was forever preserved in that voicemail message. Somehow, speaking to him helped me to cope, however much it made me cry.

Eventually, the voicemail cut me off with another beep, and I curled up on my bed in a whimpering heap, clutching my phone.

"I need you here, Augustus."