"Are you saying she's dying?" Alder asked, looking at the doctor, his eyes wide with disbelief. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the tightness in his chest.
"Yes sir, just as I said before. She has glioblastoma multiforme, and she has not less than 2 months to live," the doctor replied naturally, his eyes flicking to the file in front of him like he wasn't delivering a death sentence.
Alder's hands balled into fists by his sides.
"That's impossible, don't you see how healthy she is? And this test report must be a fake", Alder replied, his voice rising with desperation, as if saying it louder would make it untrue. His gaze burned with denial, his body leaning forward slightly like he could intimidate the truth away.
"Mr. Smith, you can test it somewhere else, but I'm very sure it's going to be the same," the doctor said calmly, too calmly, as though Alder's world hadn't just been shattered.
"You don't have to tell me that, 'cause I will surely do that", Alder snapped, his jaw tight, his voice laced with irritation.
"I understand how you're feeling, Mr. Smith, but denying facts won't make it less true. What you can only do now is to make the patient in question as happy as you can and make sure she uses her medications well," the doctor said, then added with a shrug, " And maybe in the case of a miracle, she might be miraculously saved". His tone, though, carried a faint but unmistakable hint of sarcasm.
Alder's eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. Without another word, he stood up sharply, his chair scraping the floor as he stormed out of the office and headed straight to Willow's ward.
—
When Alder entered Willow's ward, she was already awake, sitting up in bed, her back propped against a pillow. Despite her pale features, she smiled when she saw him.
He didn't return the smile. Instead, he strode across the room in silence and wrapped his arms around her. His embrace was tight—too tight—but Willow didn't resist. She just leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest.
He said nothing, yet everything he felt poured into that hug. Even if he didn't believe the doctor's words, the fear had sunk in, wrapping icy fingers around his heart.
No matter what, he was ready to fight for her—even if it meant taking on death itself.
Willow hugged him back, the small smile still lingering on her lips, though it trembled faintly.
Alder, she called gently, patting his back slowly with her palm. "It's okay".
He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes.
"Do you know about it?" Alder asked, his voice hushed. He had planned to hide it from her, to protect her. But now, it was obvious she already knew.
Willow nodded.
"I was told I have 3 months to live about 2 months ago", she replied, staring at him with calm, quiet acceptance.
"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Alder asked, his tone sharper than intended.
"I wanted to tell you, but just don't have time to tell you", Willow lied smoothly.
Alder studied her face. He knew she wasn't telling the truth—but he let it go. Her health mattered more than the lie.
"The doctor told me you have less than 2 months to live, but I don't believe that. We would check at another hospital. I wouldn't let anything happen to you", Alder assured, gripping her hand firmly.
"Those doctors are quacked. They know nothing," Willow said with a tired smile, then added with a soft chuckle, " I should have nothing less than a month now, but he said 2 months".
"Is this a joke to you? How can you joke about your life like that? Do you really want to die?" Alder said, his voice rising, anger and pain laced in every word.
Willow held his hand tighter.
"Just because we are not talking about it doesn't make it false, Alder…."
"We can't just give up like that. We need to take another test at another hospital," Alder said, cutting her off.
"I did already. I went to another hospital for a check-up and it was the same," Willow replied, her voice barely a whisper. It carried the weight of someone who had already accepted the end.
---
Flashback:
After she had been diagnosed the day before, Willow had walked out of the hospital in a daze. Her feet moved, but her mind was frozen.
She couldn't believe she was dying—not like this.
Still, determined to prove them wrong, she had gone to another hospital, clinging to the faint hope that the first result had been a mistake.
It wasn't.
"Do you have any relatives we can talk to?" the second doctor asked gently.
"No, just me", Willow replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
"We need a relative or friend we can talk to, the doctor explained". Some patients react differently to bad news.
Some people grow from it. Some collapse.
"I'm not a kid. Just tell me whatever it is", Willow said, already bracing for the blow.
The doctor sighed.
"Madam, you have glioblastoma multiforme—a deadly brain tumor. You have nothing less than 3 months to live. But you don't really have to take it negatively. A miracle might happen".
'Miracles. Another silly talk about miracles. How many of those really exist?' Willow thought bitterly.
Seeing she was silent, the doctor continued, trying to sound reassuring.
"Just because we said 3 months doesn't really mean you're dying in 3 months. You might live for years".
It was a lie, but a well-meaning one.
"Thanks, doctor," Willow replied neutrally, as though they weren't discussing her death.
She walked through the hospital hallway slowly, clutching the test result in her hand, her expression unreadable.
But deep inside, she felt it.
Her death had already knocked. And this time, she wouldn't be able to keep the door shut.
She looked down at the results, smiled bitterly, and whispered to herself—
"It seems I have no choice but to die".
End of Flashback.
—
Back in the present, Alder hugged her again—tighter this time, like he could hold her soul in place.
He didn't say a word.
Because sometimes, silence was all that could carry the weight of fear and love.
He wanted to comfort her, but what could he say?
"Don't die?"
"I'll die with you?"
"Let's go together?"
"Don't leave me?"
What words could possibly be enough?
A tear slipped from his eye. He wiped it quickly, not letting Willow see.
He thought he had found happiness again—only for it to be snatched away so cruelly.
Did he really deserve this?
"Alder, everything is going to be okay, Willow said, trying to reassure him".
The sick one comforting the healthy.
Alder stared at her, stunned. Shouldn't he be the one saying that?
He nodded slowly.
"I will be back," he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before walking out of the ward.
—
Outside, his phone buzzed.
A message had come in.
"The medicine is for glioblastoma multiforme. It doesn't necessarily heal the sickness, but only suppresses the pain."
Alder's heart sank. His last sliver of hope—crushed.
Just days ago, he had gone to Willow's house. While settling things with her, he had secretly taken a pill to his friend, asking him to check what it was for.
Now, the truth stared back at him.
What will he do when Willow dies?
"Can he live without her?"
"Does he even want to?"
He closed his eyes tightly, holding back tears.
Then, as if summoning every ounce of strength he had left, he made a call—to the same friend who verified the drug.
He told him, "I'm bringing the patient who's been taking the drug to your hospital."
Because he wasn't giving up on her.
Ever.
—
Alder made the preparations quickly and arranged Willow's discharge. He took her to a new private hospital—the one trusted by the Smith family.
She had collapsed earlier, and the other hospital was the nearest. He has to take Willow away since he didn't fully trust their expertise.
But now, everything had to be perfect.
Willow was soon settled into her new ward. The doctors ran a full-body test.
Now, they waited for the results.
Alder sat beside her, holding her hand.
Don't worry. Everything will be okay, he said again.
Willow smiled faintly. She didn't believe in miracles—but if this gave him peace, she wouldn't stop him.
"What if, I mean… What if the test turned out the same?" Willow asked, her voice soft.
"It won't," Alder replied firmly. "It would be different". I believe it would.
Willow's smile grew slightly bitter.
"What if it happens?" she asked again. "Something can't be stopped no matter what, Alder".
Alder swallowed, throat tight.
"I won't let anything happen to you. No matter what, I will protect you", he said, and meant every word.
Willow turned her head slightly to look at him. His presence beside her—his fight—meant more to her than any miracle ever could.
She smiled.
And for that moment, that tiny moment, everything did feel okay.
---
Outside the Larkspur house, a sleek black Benz sat quietly by the curb, its engine purring low like a restless beast. The afternoon sun glinted off its polished surface, casting faint reflections across the pavement.
Inside the car, an old lady, probably around seventy-five, sat perfectly still. Her spine was straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes—cold, unreadable—were fixed intensely on a young woman exiting the Larkspur house. There was no warmth in her gaze, no flicker of recognition. She stared without blinking, expressionless, like a statue carved from ice.
From her dressing—a tailored cream blouse tucked into a deep navy skirt, a string of pearls wrapped delicately around her neck—it was clear she wasn't an ordinary woman. Every stitch, every fold in her clothes spoke of status, discipline, and a life that demanded both.
The man seated beside her, dressed in a black suit and thin spectacles, leaned forward slightly, observing the young woman stepping out.
"Do you think she's the one?" the butler beside her asked, his voice low but curious. "She really look nothing like the young lady."
"I heard the child looks more like her father than her mother," the old lady said dryly, her tone distant—detached—but there was something buried beneath it, something brittle. Pain, maybe. The kind of pain that came from losing something you were never ready to lose.
The butler cleared his throat lightly, folding his hands across his knees. "You said the family has two daughters," he added, as though trying to clarify the uncertainty.
"It was written in the report," the old lady replied, her eyes never leaving Maple.
Maple, unaware of the gaze burning into her, walked with a light, almost careless bounce in her steps. She glanced down at her phone and smiled, then tossed her hair over her shoulder like someone who knew she was being watched—even if she didn't know by whom.
"Should we talk her?" the butler suggested, shifting slightly in his seat, unsure.
"You don't even know if she's the one," the old lady asked, her tone flat. Her face remained still—expressionless—but something cold flickered behind her eyes.
"We can ask her," the butler suggested again, trying to keep his voice steady. But the old lady didn't respond this time. She said nothing. She simply stared, silent as stone.
Maple, blissfully unaware, walked to the car that had come to pick her up and slipped inside with a confident grin, like someone without a care in the world.
She was known for sleeping with different guys for money rather than working for it. A lifestyle her parents were fully aware of, yet they never rebuked her. They never scolded her. They just let her be.
They seemed to be fine with her way of life. As long as she was happy.
The car Maple got into sped off, leaving behind a cloud of smoke and the faint scent of exhaust in the air.
"Should we go talk to her father?" the butler asked, adjusting his cufflinks.
"Do we have to?" the old lady said with a sad look, her posture finally shifting slightly, as though weariness had crept into her bones. "I really wish I had no reason to ever talk to Silas," the old lady said with anger, her voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.
Her deep hatred for Silas could be felt—subtle, but suffocating. It seeped through her words like venom.
"But if you want to take the young lady, you need her father's consent," the butler replied gently, treading carefully.
"Why do I need a father consent for a 28 years old lady?" the old lady asked, almost scoffing at the absurdity.
"We can't take her back without her father's consent, my lady," the butler said again, calm and firm.
"Let's come back another day," the old lady said at last, her voice cool and quiet.
The driver, having waited silently all along, stepped on the gas. The Benz rolled away slowly at first, then gained speed, disappearing into the flow of traffic.
---
A few hours later
Inside the doctor's office, Alder sat motionless, the test results envelope trembling slightly in his hands. The air around him was tense, thick with dread. He stared at the white paper like it was a ticking time bomb.
He hesitated, breathing unevenly, as thoughts spiraled through his mind.
He prayed silently to every god he had ever heard of—whispered names and deities, desperate for a miracle.
God please, Alder muttered silently.
Across from him, the doctor—an old friend—watched him closely.
"Calm down, Edward," the doctor said gently, his voice careful.
Calm? Alder blinked, barely hearing him. His hands were cold. His lips were dry. His heart thudded so loudly it echoed in his ears.
He was calm on the outside, but inside, he was terrified of what those test results might say.
He finally opened the envelope.
He didn't react. No sigh, no relief, no panic. His expression remained unreadable. His eyes just locked on the page, scanning the lines over and over.
He just kept looking at the result.