Chapter 1

I never believed that life could collapse in a single sentence.

Until today.

"Ms. Reyna. Your daughter's test results are in. But they are not what we had hoped for."

Dr. Morrison spoke my name with practiced caution. He set a thin folder on the table but did not open it.

My heart lurched into my throat. "What do you mean?"

"Kirana has Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. A tumor growing in the brainstem." He spoke slowly, but each word landed like a hammer against my chest. "The tumor is highly aggressive, and its location makes surgery impossible. Medically speaking, this is a terminal condition."

I said nothing.

Too shocked to hear the information the doctor had given me.

"Kirana is only four years old," I whispered. My own voice sounded foreign to me, flat and hollow, as though it belonged to someone else. "She is only four years old, Doctor. This cannot be happening."

"I understand how devastating this must be..."

"No." I shook my head. "You don't understand, Doctor. Kirana is four years old. Last week she asked me to buy her red shoes. Yesterday she asked me to teach her how to paint butterflies." My voice fractured at the edges. "My daughter is healthy. How does a child like that suddenly have a brain tumor?"

"DIPG often presents without obvious symptoms in the early stages." Dr. Morrison held my gaze with eyes that carried a familiar exhaustion, the kind worn by someone who had delivered news like this too many times. "Recurring headaches, blurred vision, difficulty with balance. All of it is consistent with how this tumor develops."

My chest tightened until I nearly forgot how to breathe.

"How long does my daughter have?"

Dr. Morrison did not answer immediately. He opened the folder and studied the pages dense with numbers and terminology I could not fully decipher.

But I did not need to understand any of it. I only needed one number.

"Approximately one month," he said quietly. "Perhaps slightly longer if her condition remains stable."

"One month?"

One month. Thirty days. I was going to lose my daughter within that window of time. Kirana, the only reason I had continued living after everything else had been taken from me.

"Is there nothing else we can try?" My voice dropped lower, more pleading than I intended. "Chemotherapy? Radiation? Anything, Doctor."

"Radiation therapy can slow the progression of symptoms, but it cannot cure her." He chose his words with care. "What we recommend is allowing Kirana to spend the time she has left in happiness, free from invasive procedures that would only cause her small body unnecessary suffering."

Something pressed against my ribs from the inside, as though the entire weight of the world had decided to settle on my chest all at once.

Dr. Morrison rose from his chair. A signal that the consultation had ended.

"Ms. Reyna."

I stood as well, reached for my bag and turned to face him.

"I do not wish to offer you false hope. But there is something you should know. A medical research project has recently emerged focused specifically on DIPG cases. It is still in the trial phase, and no confirmed successes have been documented yet. But the research continues to advance, and they are still considering new participants."

For the first time since stepping into that room, I looked at him directly.

"You mean there is a chance Kirana could recover?"

"I cannot promise anything." He shook his head gently. "But if you are willing, I can give you their contact."

My hands trembled as I accepted the card he offered.

"Thank you," I said. "I will not let a single chance slip by. Not one."

---

"Mama!"

Kirana leapt down from the waiting room chair the moment she saw me, her beloved white rabbit tucked firmly in her arms.

"You took so long! I was so bored," she declared, her little face arranged into an exaggerated pout.

I knelt and pulled her into my arms, tighter than usual, tight enough that she let out a small squeak of protest.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. The doctor had a lot to discuss."

Kirana tilted her head back and studied my face with her wide, serious eyes. "Why are your eyes red? Did you cry, Mama?"

"Mama was just cold, sweetheart" I smiled, or tried to. "The air conditioning was too strong inside."

She did not look entirely convinced, but she asked nothing more. Kirana had always been that way, more perceptive than any child her age had the right to be.

"What did the doctor say about me?" she asked suddenly. "Is everything okay?"

My breath caught in my throat. How could I explain to such a small child that he only had thirty days left?

"You are healthy, Sweety." I lied. "Everything is fine. Mama will make sure of it."

"That's good!"

We walked out together. Kirana held my hand and chattered about her rabbit, who had apparently grown very tired of waiting. I listened, nodded, laughed in the right places. But inside, something was breaking slowly, the way glass cracks before it shatters.

"Mama." Kirana tugged at my hand. "Kirana's birthday is coming up in this month."

"I know, sweetheart." My voice barely came.

"Will Daddy come this year?" Her eyes lit up. "I promises to be a good daughter. No fussing, no crying, no asking for too many things." She scrunched her nose with grave sincerity. "As long as Daddy comes to mybirthday."

I stopped walking.

Kirana's request was enough to destroy the rest of my strength. A reminder that Arvan Hargrove, Kirana's father, my husband, had never truly acknowledged our existence.

"Mama will try to talk your Dad, okay?" I forced a smile. "Let's go home now. It's getting late."

---

I called after Kirana had fallen asleep.

Arvan Hargrove, CEO of Hargrove Group, the man who had not set foot in this house for nearly two months. His number still sat at the top of my contacts. Not because I missed him, but because Kirana often borrowed my phone just to look at his photograph.

The line rang three times before he answered.

"What?"

His voice was flat. No greeting, no pleasantry. A single word that was sufficient reminder that we were not a real husband and wife. We were two people bound by nothing more than a marriage certificate.

"We need to talk," I said quietly.

"I'm busy."

In the background I could hear the soft clink of glassware, the murmur of distant conversation. He was out somewhere. A business dinner, perhaps. Or perhaps he was with her.

"You haven't come home in nearly two months."

"Because you still haven't signed the divorce papers." His tone shifted, hardening like a door slammed shut. "Lara needs my help with her child right now. Until you sign, there is nothing for us to discuss."

Lara.

That name always sounded like shards of glass to my ears. She was Arvan's first love, the woman who returned after her husband died—complete with a child who made Arvan increasingly forget that he had a wife and daughter at home.

"I'm calling about Kirana."

A beat of silence. "What happened?"

"Kirana is sick." My voice broke on the last word. "The doctor says she has DIPG. A tumor in her brainstem that cannot be operated on."

A long silence followed.

Our marriage had never begun honestly. Four years ago, on the night Lara married another man, Arvan had drunk himself into ruin and called me, then only a colleague, to come collect him from a bar.

What happened next was something neither of us had planned.

Arvan had forced himself on me. The following morning, he accused me of having climbed into his bed deliberately. I tried to explain, but he had already closed himself inside his assumptions.

And when I fell pregnant, he had no choice but to marry me. From that day forward, he treated me as the enemy. He extended that coldness even to his own child.

"Arvan." I pressed my lips together. "The doctor says Kirana has about one month left."