تسجيل الدخول[Adam's POV]The corridor smells like antiseptic and despair.I’m standing outside Alice’s hospital room with my back pressed against the wall. I can see her through the narrow window in the door. She’s asleep. She’s exhausted from all the tests, from the sheer effort of keeping a body alive that was determined to tear itself apart from the inside.Fifteen percent.That number echoes in my skull like a death knell. It means an eighty-five percent chance of a world without Alice in it. Fifteen percent means I would probably be standing at a graveside, instead of an altar. The dream I’ve carried for a decade — the church with the lilacs, her head on my chest, a life built from the rubble of our respective disasters — would evaporate like morning dew.But I have made a promise. “Okay. Together. We fight together.”I have pledged to lead the battle with her. To stand by her side, no matter what gets thrown our way.But how did you fight an enemy that also needs a lifeline? How do you wage
[Alice's POV]Lily was wearing a loose-fitting maternity dress. It was pale blue, cinched below the bust. The kind of dress designed to accommodate a growing belly without sacrificing style. And there was a belly. Small but visible, a gentle curve beneath the fabric that spoke of a pregnancy in its early stages. Three months, maybe. The first trimester just ending.She looked... well. That was the infuriating thing. She looked radiant. Glowing. The way pregnant women in advertisements always look. Serene and beautiful and utterly at peace with the life growing inside them. Her skin was clear, her hair was thick and shiny, her eyes were bright with a vitality that I, lying in a hospital bed with cancer eating my uterus, could not currently summon.Close behind her, with his hand on the small of her back, was David.He was saying something to her, something quiet and solicitous, the kind of intimate murmur that couples exchange in public spaces. His hand moved in small circles on her ba
[Alice's POV]I was moved to a room on the oncology ward. A private room. Dr. Ibanez arranged it, perhaps out of professional courtesy towards Adam. The room had a window overlooking the same Alpine view that had been in Adam's room when he was a patient here. The same mountains. The same snow. The same indifferent beauty of a world that did not care whether the people watching it lived or died.I was lying on the bed when Adam came back to the room. He had been making phone calls — to Endall, I assumed, or Camilla’s babysitter. Or maybe to Dr. Ibanez, demanding updates with the ferocity of a man who had been stripped of his medical authority and was compensating with sheer force of will.He sat in the chair beside my bed. Took my hand. Didn't speak."Adam?" I tried."Don't.""I need to know what you saw. On the scans. You saw something."His jaw tightened. His thumb kept moving across my knuckles. A small, repetitive motion, self-soothing, the physical equivalent of counting to ten.
[Alice's POV]"I won't let you die," Adam said. "Do you hear me? I will not let you die. I gave up everything for you — my name, my fortune, my career, my family. And I would do it again tomorrow, and every tomorrow after that. So, I am not going to stand in a hospital corridor and watch you choose a child you haven't met over a life we haven't lived. I can't. Alice, I can't!"His voice broke on the last word. Completely shattered, like glass on stone. The sound of this strong, stubborn, impossible man falling apart on the kitchen floor was worse than any diagnosis, worse even than anything the cancer could do to my body."Adam, you have to understand, I can't give up this baby.”"You're not giving up a baby. You're saving your life. You’re saving Camilla’s mother!”I took his face in my hands. Forced him to look at me."This baby, David's child, is the only good thing other than Camilla, that came out of my marriage. It’s the only piece of that past life that I still carry. And I kno
[Alice's POV]He smiled. That real, unguarded smile that I was learning to live for. "I've had a lot of practice at wanting to be somewhere," he said. "Now I actually am."A week passed. Then two. Adam drove his ride-share shifts in the morning and came home in the afternoon and did his physical therapy exercises in the living room while Camilla ‘supervised.’This meant that she sat on the balance board and refused to move, telling him he was ‘doing it wrong’ with the devastating honesty of a five-year-old. I cooked, or tried to. I read the journals Endall kept sending. I felt the baby grow — the kicks becoming stronger, more insistent, the rolling movements more defined, as if the child was already practicing for the marathon of existence.And I lost even more weight.It happened slowly, then all at once. The same way cancer always progresses. A gradual accumulation of small changes that suddenly coalesce into a reality that can no longer be ignored. My face became sharper, the cheek
[Alice's POV]The days that followed were, against all reasonable expectations, happy.It was not the wild, electric happiness of fairy tales — not the fireworks and grand gestures and soaring orchestral scores that the movies promised. But something quieter. Days made of small, ordinary moments that accumulated like snowfall, each one insignificant on its own but collectively transforming my landscape beyond recognition.My mornings began with Adam.He would wake before I did. It was a habit from his residency years, he said, when the body learned to function on four hours of sleep and an internal alarm clock that no amount of retirement from his medical years could disable. And by the time I shuffled into the kitchen, the kettle would be boiling. There would be toast on the counter and the ride-share app would be open on his phone, showing the morning surge pricing in District One."Good morning," he always said, and the way he said it — with that quiet, unguarded warmth, as if my e
[Alice’s POV]The air inside the Swiss Institute for Advanced Oncology didn't smell like death. It smelled like electricity, ozone, and the sharp, clean scent of possibility.Endall Andorra pushed my wheelchair through the pressurized glass doors of the main research wing, and for the first time in
[Adam’s POV]I was born with a platinum spoon in my mouth, but it tasted like ash.From birth my trajectory was plotted by men in suits who cared more about stock margins than humanity. I was the sole heir to the Ballard dynasty. The crown prince. The golden calf. And like any prized animal, I was
[Adam’s POV]The adrenaline from throwing the punch was fading, replaced by the cold, sterile focus of the operating room. My knuckles throbbed — a dull, rhythmic reminder of David’s face beneath my fist — but I didn’t have the luxury of nursing a sore hand.Under the harsh glare of the surgical li
[Alice's POV]“I won’t sign this.” I firmly pushed the document back.David frowned. “What did you say?” It was clearly not the reaction he expected.“You heard me. I won’t admit to something I haven’t done.” I looked at him and stated each word clearly. “I won’t sign this confession. Even if it’s







