NOT A DOORMAT ANYMORE

Ava's Pov:

The fluorescent lights above me buzzed faintly as I stared at Dr. Kim's mouth, watching his lips move but not really hearing the words.

"...brain tumor...advanced stage...stress-induced growth...I'm sorry, Miss Arande, but you have approximately three to six months..."

Three to six months.

The words finally broke through the fog in my mind, settling heavy in my chest like stones.

I blinked slowly, my hands gripping the edge of the plastic chair. My palms were sweating. The room felt too small, too bright, and too suffocating.

My mind drifted far away. Like I was in a void.

I could hear distant sounds, voices, and noises, but couldn't make anything out of it.

Dr. Kim kept talking, saying something about treatment options, experimental therapies, and quality of life. His voice blended into the hum of the air conditioning until it was just noise.

I nodded. I didn't know what I was agreeing to. I just needed him to stop looking at me with those pitying eyes. I needed him to just keep quiet, and let me dwell in thoughts..

Is this the end? Was all that suffering for nothing? Am I really going to die like this?, I thought to myself.

When he finally finished, I stood up on shaky legs and signed a quick "thank you." He gave me a sad smile and opened the door for me.

The hospital hallway stretched out before me, endless and sterile. My vision blurred at the edges. I couldn't tell if it was tears or the tumor.

Three to six months. I had just three to six months to live.

I was dying.

I walked forward, one foot in front of the other, my mind replaying the doctor's words over and over. How was I supposed to go home and pretend everything was fine? How was I supposed to sit at dinner with my husband and his family and smile while I was dying inside?

Literally dying.

My foot caught on something—maybe the edge of a floor mat, maybe nothing—and I stumbled forward.

Strong hands caught me by the waist before I could hit the ground.

My head snapped up.

Dark, intense eyes stared down at me, framed by a face that could've been carved from stone. The man holding me was tall, and was dressed in an expensive black coat, and he smelled faintly of cedar and something else I couldn't place.

For a moment, we just looked at each other.

His grip on my waist was firm but not rough. It was steady and secure, like he had no intention of letting me fall.

Something flickered in his expression, curiosity, maybe, but it was gone before I could read it.

This man looked so out of the world.

Is he an actor? A model? I can't tell.

"Are you alright?" His voice was deep, and controlled. His brow furrowed out of concern.

I nodded quickly, suddenly aware of how close we were. Of the warmth of his hands through my thin sweater.

A small voice broke the moment.

"Daddy, is she okay?"

I glanced down. A little girl, no older than five, stood beside him clutching a stuffed rabbit. She had the same dark eyes as the man, wide with concern.

He released me carefully, as if making sure I could stand on my own before letting go completely.

"I apologize," he said, stepping back. His tone was polite but distant. "I wasn't paying attention." He said flatly. He looked me into my eyes.

I shook my head and signed "it's okay," even though I knew he probably didn't understand. Most people didn't. Most people didn't care about sign languages and about dumb people.

He watched my hands for a beat longer than necessary, then gave a short nod.

Did he understand me?

I turned and walked away before he could say anything else.

My heart was still pounding, but I wasn't sure if it was from almost falling or from the way he'd looked at me.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

---

The house was quiet when I got home, which was unusual. Ethan would have been playing games, watching movies, idling, and partying.

I stood in the entryway for a moment, listening. Usually, I could hear the television in the living room or the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. My future mother-in-law loved to make noise, loved to remind everyone she was there.

Sometimes, she makes me forget she even has her own house.

But today, there was nothing.

I slipped off my shoes and set my bag down on the small table by the door. My hands were still trembling. I clenched them into fists, trying to steady myself.

Maybe everyone was out. Maybe I could go upstairs, lock myself in my room, and just…breathe.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. The second floor hallway was dim, the curtains drawn. I walked past the guest room, past the bathroom, toward the bedroom at the end of the hall.

The door was cracked open.

I paused.

There were voices inside. It was low and hushed. It was a man's voice and a woman's.

My chest tightened.

I took a deep breath, getting myself ready for whatever it is.

I pushed the door open slowly, my hand shaking on the doorknob.

What I saw shocked me to my core.