Chapter 4

Audrey clearly hadn't expected me to change the subject so abruptly. She blinked, then walked over to her desk and opened her calendar.

"Next Wednesday? I have an executive meeting in the morning, but the afternoon's open so far."

She looked up, a trace of curiosity in her eyes. "Why? What's going on?"

My hands were in my coat pockets, and my fingers traced the edge of a pill bottle without thinking. "I need to go to Ridgemont General. There's a form that requires a family member's signature."

Legally, she wasn't my family. But in my heart, she had been the only family I had.

Audrey's expression relaxed, and something close to amusement crossed her face. "The hospital? So you're finally going in to get that stomach polyp removed?"

She still thought I was the same Evan Caldwell from last year, the one whose checkup came back with nothing worse than mild gastritis.

"Sure, I'll go with you Wednesday afternoon." She agreed without hesitation, as if it were the smallest promise in the world.

"Good."

I didn't correct her. I simply turned and walked out of the office.

…

Over the next few days, I finished all my handover work in complete silence. I didn't so much as flinch watching Audrey and Micah together. I was already an outsider on my way out, so I observed the empire I built with my own hands the way a stranger would.

On Wednesday, I sat on a bench in the inpatient wing at Ridgemont General at 1:00 pm. The smell of disinfectant burned the inside of my nose, and the dull ache in my stomach kept rolling in waves.

By 2:30 pm, Audrey still hadn't shown. I called her, but the line went straight to voicemail.

I held the phone and stared at the pale fluorescent light at the end of the corridor.

Micah hadn't removed me from his close friends on Instagram. He had posted a story with the caption, "My silly girlfriend ditched a hundred-million-dollar meeting just to hold my hand while I get my wisdom teeth pulled."

The photo was taken at an upscale private dental clinic. In the corner of the frame, half-visible, was the back of a woman in a tailored designer suit.

I had been looking at that silhouette for seven years. I stared at the photo for a long time, until the screen went dark on its own.

"Your family still hasn't arrived?" My attending physician looked at me sitting alone, his brow furrowed. "This form authorizes the switch from active treatment to palliative care. I need a signature from an immediate family member or a legal representative."

"I don't have any family."

I stood up, pulled out a chair, and sat down at his desk. I took my ID and a liability waiver I had drafted myself out of my bag.

"I'm an adult who can make his own decisions. Whatever happens, that's on me."

The doctor looked at my calm, pale face and sighed. At my insistence, I signed every document intended for a next of kin. Every stroke of the pen was steady.

After it was done, I took a taxi back to the apartment Audrey and I had shared for three years. Everything inside was exactly the way I left it that morning.

I didn't take a single thing she had bought me. I only packed a few old clothes and a journal from seven years ago. The suitcase was pathetically small, not even half full.

Before I left, I set the spare key on the coffee table. Next to it, I placed a brown envelope. Inside was a signed agreement to return the one percent equity stake I held.

When I was done, I grabbed the suitcase handle and walked out without looking back. The lock clicked shut behind me, quiet and final, closing off the last seven years of my life.

…

At 11:00 pm, Audrey pushed open the front door.

"Evan, I'm home," she called out as she stepped out of her shoes, the way she always did.

What answered her was nothing but silence.

She frowned and walked into the living room. The brown envelope on the coffee table stood out immediately. She picked it up and tore it open.

The first page was the equity return agreement. She let out a short, cold laugh, assuming this was just another one of my stunts and some kind of protest over the deal she handed to Micah.

Then she turned to the second page, and her eyes landed on the thin sheet of paper beneath it.

It was a pathology report from Ridgemont General. At the very bottom, the words "Stage IV gastric adenocarcinoma" were printed in stark black letters.