Chapter 4 The Report He Never Saw Coming

Conrad clearly had not expected me to change the subject so abruptly. He paused, then walked over to his desk and opened his calendar.

"Next Wednesday? I have an executive meeting in the morning, but my afternoon is open for now."

He looked up, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing major." I slipped my hands into my coat pockets, my fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the pill bottle inside.

"I need to go to Riverdale Central Hospital. They need a family member's signature on some paperwork."

Legally, he was not my family. But for a very long time, he had been the only family I thought I had.

Conrad visibly relaxed. A faint smile even appeared on his face. "The hospital? What, you finally decided to get that minimally invasive procedure for your stomach polyps?"

He still thought I was the Seraphina from last year, the one whose worst diagnosis had been mild gastritis.

"Sure. I'll go with you Wednesday afternoon."

He agreed so easily, as though it were the smallest promise in the world.

"Okay."

I did not correct his misunderstanding. I simply turned and left his office.

Over the next few days, I quietly completed every handoff and transition task.

I did not react when I saw Conrad and Summer together. I did not get angry. I did not get jealous.

As someone preparing to leave, I watched from the outside as the fortress I had spent seven years helping build slowly drifted out of my hands.

…

Wednesday arrived.

At one in the afternoon, I sat alone on a bench in the inpatient wing of Riverdale Central Hospital.

The sharp smell of disinfectant filled the air. The dull ache in my stomach came in relentless waves.

By two-thirty, Conrad still had not arrived.

I called him, but his phone was turned off.

Holding my phone in my hand, I stared at the harsh fluorescent lights at the end of the hallway. Then I noticed a new update from Summer. She had not blocked me.

The post was visible only to company employees.

"My silly boyfriend canceled a million-dollar meeting just to stay with me while I got my wisdom tooth removed."

Attached was a photo taken inside an upscale private dental clinic.

In one corner of the picture, half of a man's back was visible. A tailored suit. Broad shoulders. A familiar silhouette.

I had looked at that back for seven years. I stared at the photo until my screen went dark.

"Has your family member still not arrived?" My attending physician looked at me, concern etched across his face.

"This is a consent form to discontinue aggressive treatment and transition to hospice care. We need a direct family member or legal representative to sign."

"I don't have any family."

The words had barely left my mouth before hot tears spilled down my cheeks.

I quickly wiped them away. Then I pulled out my ID and the liability waiver I had already prepared.

"I'm alone." My voice was steady. "If anything happens, I'll take full responsibility."

The doctor looked at my reddened eyes and sighed.

In the end, after I insisted, he allowed me to complete every document myself. Every signature was neat, steady, and unshaken.

Afterward, I took a cab back to the apartment Conrad and I had shared for the past three years. The place looked exactly the same as when I had left that morning.

I did not take a single expensive gift he had ever bought me. All I packed were a few old clothes and a diary from seven years ago.

The suitcase looked pitifully small. It was not even half full.

Before leaving, I placed the spare key on the coffee table. Beside it sat a manila envelope. Inside was a signed agreement returning my one percent ownership stake in the company.

When everything was finished, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out without looking back.

The lock clicked softly behind me. With that sound, seven years of my youth were sealed away forever.

At eleven that night, Conrad came home humming softly under his breath.

"Seraphina, I'm home." As usual, he called out while changing his shoes.

Silence greeted him. No answer.

His brows furrowed. He walked into the living room.

The manila envelope on the coffee table immediately caught his attention. He picked it up and casually opened it. The first page was the stock transfer agreement.

A cold laugh escaped him. He assumed it was another one of my attempts to get his attention.

Then he flipped to the second page. His eyes landed on the thin sheet of paper beneath.

Everything froze.

It was a pathology report from Riverdale Central Hospital. At the bottom, a single diagnosis was printed in bold black letters.

Advanced Gastric Adenocarcinoma. Stage IV.