Chapter 3

I passed out in the grocery store's refrigerated aisle during my night shift.

When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a white hospital ceiling. The store manager, Mr. Dunlop, stood beside my bed, handing me his phone.

Dad's number was displayed on the screen above a line of small grey text.

[User Busy.]

"The doctor said you need to be admitted immediately," Mr. Dunlop sighed. "I called your family seven or eight times. Nobody picked up."

I took my own phone. A new text from Dad finally popped onto the screen.

My fingers trembled as I tapped it open. There was no question about my health.

Just a quick command.

[Clara, call me back when you see this. I think we bought the wrong party favors for your sister's engagement feast.]

They were all busy celebrating Yvonne's upcoming party and Daxton's tournament victory.

I thanked Mr. Dunlop and walked to the doctor's office alone.

The attending physician studied my chart, his forehead creased with deep lines.

"Clara, why did you give up your spot in that targeted trial? The cancer is already spreading."

He leaned forward. "If you delay any longer, standard treatments won't touch it. I strongly advise you to admit yourself today for palliative care and pain management. Stop trying to carry this by yourself."

Palliative care.

Hearing those words, I nodded calmly.

I didn't go home to explain. I didn't check into the hospital either.

Once the trial deposit was refunded, I cleared all my backlogged medical bills first. The remaining money was just enough to rent a small studio apartment near the clinic.

I hung my solitary family portrait on the wall right above my bed. I didn't have to hide it in a dark wardrobe anymore.

---

That afternoon, I visited the local community center to apply for hospice social work services.

The social worker, Julian Andrews, looked over my intake form and paused.

"Ms. Miller, why is the emergency contact section blank?"

I looked out the window at the bare tree branches. "I have a family. But they're very busy, and I'm tired of waiting for them to have time for me."

Julian didn't push. He processed my paperwork quietly.

As I turned to leave, he offered a gentle piece of advice. "If you need legal assistance to ensure your final wishes are respected, our office can connect you with an attorney."

I nodded, keeping the suggestion in mind.

---

In the evening, the studio photographer called me.

"Clara, I'd love to submit your portrait to the local portrait exhibition. Would you be open to that? We can obscure your face or list you anonymously if you prefer."

I stared at the picture on my wall for a long moment.

"No need to hide my face or name. I didn't do anything wrong."

I paused before adding, "For the caption, write, 'I don't want to stand on the edge anymore. Less than a hundred days remaining.'"

---

The moment I hung up, the family group chat blew up.

Mom sent three frantic voice notes. "Clara, where on earth are you? Look at the time!"

Dad followed with a text.

[Clara, tomorrow is a huge day for your sister. The house is in chaos. Don't throw a childish tantrum right now!]

Yvonne dropped an annoyed emoji.

[Unbelievable. Acting sweet all year round just to drop the ball when it actually matters. Are you trying to make a fool of me tomorrow?]

Daxton sent his own text.

[Clara, come home and help me find my wristbands! I have dinner with the university scouts tomorrow!]

I stared at the cascade of notifications, feeling only a cold, absurd detachment.

They weren't looking for me out of fear for a sick girl alone in the dark. They were looking for me because I was disrupting their big showcase.

Ten minutes later, Dad transferred fifty dollars to my account with a note.

[Stop acting out. Take this money, get something to eat, and come home early tomorrow to help out.]

I didn't accept the money, nor did I decline it.

I opened the image sent by the studio, selected the portrait of me sitting in the dead center, and forwarded it back to the photographer.

I attached a note.

[Please print four framed copies of this photo on the day of the exhibition and ship them directly to my family's address.]

I locked my phone, laid down on the thin mattress in my rented room, and closed my eyes.

---

Around noon the next day, Julian arrived for my initial palliative assessment.

Before I could reach the door, a wave of pain ripped through my chest. I coughed up fresh blood into the bathroom sink, my knees giving out against the wall.

Julian called an ambulance immediately.

By the time I woke up again, I was being wheeled directly into the emergency resuscitation bay.