Chapter One

*Avina*

The air in the doctor’s office smelled like bleach and old paper. It was the kind of smell that clung to my throat and turned my stomach, because it always meant tests, needles and answers I wasn’t ready for. On a normal day, I would have been lying down by now, staring at the ceiling as a doctor drew blood from my arm for the third, fourth, maybe fifth time this week.

But this time, I was sitting on the edge of the plastic chair in front of the doctor, my hands trembling in my lap. I looked down at my skin and couldn't help but notice how pale it looked, it was almost translucent like wet parchment.

Forcing down the emotions building in my throat, I stuffed my hands under my lanky laps and just fixed my gaze on the shelf behind the doctor's head. 

Why was it taking him so long to interpret my chart?

He has been staring at it for over 10 minutes now and I was already getting anxious. 

The silence was so heavy I could hear the clock ticking on the wall with every second feeling as if a piece of my life was slipping away.

And then finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Mrs. Graves,” he said, his eyes still tracking my test results. 

I sat up straight, hoping to hell and back that I looked more confident than I felt. “Yes, Dr. Miller?”

He exhaled slowly, like he was preparing himself for what is to come. Which was quite ironic considering the fact I was the patient. 

“We’ve completed all the necessary tests and I’m afraid we’ve reached a conclusion,” he added and then finally met my eyes. 

My heart dipped when I saw the pity, uncertainty and finality reflected in them, and then it started to pound. Loud and erratic until it was all that I could hear.

“A… conclusion?” I repeated, my throat growing dry. 

He nodded slowly. Too slowly. Like he was dragging the moment out on purpose.

“We’ve reviewed your scans. Bloodwork. Cellular biopsies…”

My fingers curled tighter under my thighs, my nails digging into my sweaty palm. “Okay, and?” I asked, intentionally cutting him off. 

He paused again, and exhaling once more, he took off his glasses and set the file down on his desk. 

“Your condition has progressed faster than expected,” he told me.

“Progressed…?” I echoed. “I thought you said it was just fatigue. Stress.”

“Yes. Initially.” He finally looked at me then, like really looked at me and there was something heavy in his gaze that deeply unsettled me. “But the cellular damage we’re seeing now tells a different story.”

My thin almost nonexistent eyebrows pushed together in a frown. “What story?”

He hesitated and I nearly collapsed with the anxiety spiking through me. 

I laughed nervously. “Doctor, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly. “You’ve been diagnosed with Cellular Degeneration Syndrome.”

The words landed gently at first. 

Too gently.

Like a lie wrapped in silk.

I blinked once and then two times. “That sounds… dramatic,” I joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere. 

He doesn’t even crack a smile at my words. 

Shit! He was serious. 

“It’s rare,” he continued, a helpless look flickering across his face. “And aggressive.”

My breathing grew labored, my chest constricting. “Aggressive how?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Your cells are deteriorating faster than your body can regenerate them.”

I shook my head. “No. That doesn’t even make sense. I’m only thirty-two.”

“I know.”

“I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I—”

As if to mock my inability to accept the reality, my chest tightened again and I quickly reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a tissue just as a violent, hacking cough tore through me.

It went on for about two minutes that Dr. Miller had to offer me more tissues. When I finally pulled the tissues away, it wasn’t just stained; it was soaked with bright, frothy red blood that just stared back at me. 

My eyes blurred with tears as I struggled to catch my breath. My lower lip quivering with the need to keep my emotions in check. 

“I eat healthy…” I continued, the lump in my throat growing thicker. 

“I know.”

The room suddenly felt too small and I significantly fought the urge to curl into myself. Instead, I shoved my hand still stuffed with bloodied tissues into my pockets and left it there. 

“How long?” I finally managed to whisper. 

Did I even want to hear it?

Dr. Miller closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, the answer was already there.

“Months,” he supplied. “Possibly less.”

I stared at him as a heavy sense of numbness descended upon me. 

Months.

That’s not enough time to do anything.

That’s not enough time to live.

“There has to be treatment,” I said quickly. “Something experimental. Trials. Anything.”

“There are options,” he replied carefully. “But they would only prolong discomfort. Not reverse the damage.”

Discomfort.

I almost laughed.

My body already felt like it was betraying me from the inside out.

“What caused it?” I asked. “Was it genetic?”

“We don’t know,” he admitted. “Some conditions develop silently.”

Silently.

Like poison dripping into your veins over time.

I nodded slowly, my head feeling both light and heavy on my neck.

He slides a stack of papers toward me. Consent forms. Information sheets. End-of-life care options.

“You can sign these first and we can move on from there,” he said. 

I looked down at the papers, my blurry vision making it hard for me to make out any words on the papers. But the longer I stared at it, the more the nausea in my throat increased. 

Feeling my breathing growing heavier, I shoved up to my feet, muttered some excuses and stumbled out of the office. Once I was outside, I made a beeline for the nearest restroom, all the while ignoring the tremor in my tired legs. I barely made it inside a stall before I collapsed onto my knees. 

Crouched over the toilet, I dry-retched until my ribs ached, my body convulsing with nothing left to give. Each heave tore through me anyway, scraping my throat raw. And then my sobs broke loose—ugly and broken—followed by another violent cough that left me gasping.

When I finished, I slid down onto the filthy tile, my back against the porcelain, clutching my stomach like I could hold myself together. But still my tears spilled unchecked, burning my eyes and blurring the world as my head pounded in time with my heartbeat. I cried until my chest hurt, until my breath came in shallow, shaking pulls—until the floor felt cold enough to swallow me whole

Why me? What did I do wrong?

I had been careful all my life. My childhood wasn't really all sunshine and roses but still I persevered until I found the love of my life, Xavier and got married to him. 

He has been my lifeline and support and now I won't even be able to stand beside him any longer.

Time slowly passed as i sat there reminiscing over my life. When I finally managed to drag myself up, it felt as if a decade had passed. 

I looked at my reflection in the restroom mirror as I washed my face. My skin was a sickly, translucent gray. My eyes, once bright and full of life, were sunken and surrounded by dark shadows. I looked like a ghost already.

"Get it together, Avina," I whispered to myself. "Xavier is here. He’s a Graves. He’s the best doctor in the city. He will save you."

I wiped my face, straightened my coat, and walked out toward the hospital lobby. I needed to find him. I needed my husband to hold me and tell me the test results were a mistake.

Mustering my remaining strength, I dug out my phone from my coat pocket and dialed his number. 

“Please pick up… please pick up, Xavier,” I implored as I lifted the phone to my ear and stepped into the middle of the lobby.

I didn’t make it far.

Because what happened from here on felt like a fever dream. 

My steps slowed, then stalled completely. And slowly, my forehead creased in confusion as I stared at the familiar figure standing less than five feets away. 

“Xavier?“ I called, my voice a tiny confused squeak. 

He was standing near the reception desk, his back to me, shoulders familiar in a way that made my chest tighten painfully. But the thing was, he wasn't supposed to be in town today. He had texted me earlier this morning to inform me that he was attending a medical conference in France and that the program would run for three days. 

He couldn't have lied to me… right? 

Xavier had never lied to me especially when it concerns his work… right? 

I might have been too caught in my shock that I failed to recognize the person standing beside him because the moment I did, my entire world came crashing down. 

Because the person who clung to my husband's arm like he was her lifeline, grinning and all while looking stunning in a designer floral dress was no other than my own sister, Daphne. 

I unconsciously took a cautious step back as a wave of apprehension washed over me, my gut tightening. 

No. I shook my head aggressively, trying to convince myself that it wasn't what I was thinking. 

My husband would never… he loves me!

But right then, Xavier reached out to Daphne. He didn’t just touch her arm. He wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her close. He then leaned down and kissed her forehead—not a brother-in-law kind of kiss but a deep, lingering kiss. 

I felt like the floor had vanished. My fingers went numb around my phone. My stomach dropped, and twisted so violently, something inside me cracking open. 

A broken whimper escaped my lips as tears flooded my eyes. Of all the people to cheat on me with, Xavier chose my sister?

My head grew light, a sharp piercing sound filling my ears and making me dizzy. I tried to take a step forward but my feet refused to move as I was still frozen in shock. 

A nurse walked by them, smiling warmly. "Good morning, Dr. Graves. Mrs. Graves is looking radiant today. Is the little one kicking yet?"

Daphne beamed, leaning her head on Xavier’s shoulder. "He’s a very active boy, just like his father."

Xavier laughed. The same laugh he used when he told me he loved me every night. "He’s going to be a handful, that’s for sure."

I felt like I had been stabbed. Mrs. Graves? No. I was Mrs. Graves.

And what was this talk about babies? 

What the hell was going on here?

"Xavier?" I tried to scream, but my voice was a broken whistle.

I took a step forward, but my vision went black. I stumbled, hitting the floor hard. By the time I could see again, the lobby was a blur of white coats and moving people which momentarily obstructed my view and by the time they cleared up…

Xavier and Daphne were gone.

"Wait!" I choked out, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. "Daphne, wait!"

I had to get home. This was a mistake. Daphne must be tricking him. Or maybe I was hallucinating. Yes, that had to be it. Xavier loved me. He took care of me. He was my saint. He was mine. 

He had always been there for me when no one was. He was my number one supporter. 

Big ugly tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, my heart breaking into countless pieces. 

"Wait!" I cried out once more, stumbling toward the exit. "Xavier! Daphne!"

I burst through the hospital doors into the cold afternoon air. They were nowhere to be seen. I stood there, gasping for breath, my chest heaving. My husband was having a child with my sister. The hospital thought she was his wife???

Was I really hallucinating? Was the disease affecting my brain?

I had to get home. I had to find him. I quickly hailed a taxi, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold my phone. I tried calling Xavier and it went straight to voicemail. I tried Daphne. Nothing.

When the taxi finally pulled up to our estate, I didn't even wait for the change.

“Keep the change,” I yelled as I burst through the car door, sprinted to the front door and threw it open.

"Xavier!" I shouted as I entered the massive house. "Xavier, where are you?"

The house was silent. Too silent.

Even the normal bustling of our housekeeper cleaning was absent which was weird because that woman cleaned a lot. 

Suddenly, the sound of heavy thud of boots echoed on the hardwood and instant relief pulsated through me. Of course he would be here. 

But instead of my husband, four men in dark uniforms stepped out from the dining room. 

A heavy feeling settled in my stomach, my muscles turning rigid. What was the police doing here? 

"Avina Drene-Graves?" the lead officer asked. His face was like stone.

"Yes? What’s going on? Where is my husband?" 

"You’re under arrest," he said, stepping forward.

I recoiled, my eyes bulging in their sockets. "What? For what?"

"Embezzlement, fraud, and the illegal distribution of controlled substances from Graves Hospital . We have the digital trail, Mrs. Graves. All the accounts are in your name."

Cold terror gripped me in its icy embrace, rendering me speechless. “What?”