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CHAPTER THIRTY–ONE

#Dorothy’s POV#I don't want to think about last night.Or the kiss.Or Joel’s stare.Or the blankness in his eyes when he walked away without a word like my body wasn’t a crime scene and Rico wasn’t the evidence that could make it all make sense again.I don’t want to think.I just want to function.I slowly stir my tea in the villa kitchen, the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug. My fingers are numb. My lips feel dry. I haven’t been able to stomach anything since dinner two nights ago, and even now, my stomach curls at the idea of food.Today is the day.Chemo.The beginning of whatever this godawful journey is going to be.I don’t even know if I should be scared. Am I scared? Maybe. I think I am. But I’m also tired. Tired of wondering if I’ll live or die. Tired of thinking about what this is going to do to my body, my bones, my brain, my breath. Tired of guessing if my hair will fall out on the third round or the fifth. Tired of thinking of babies and how this poison in my vein

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

#Rico’s POV#Sometimes Rico feels like his life isn’t his anymore.Not his body. Not his hours. Not his thoughts. Not even his heartbeat.It’s all tied to someone who doesn’t belong to him.He’s sitting in the car with Dorothy still in his arms, and he doesn’t even realize they’ve been parked in front of the villa for almost three minutes now. He’s just… holding her. Because she passed out in the elevator, and he carried her down without a second thought, and somewhere along the way, he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to care this much.He forgot that this isn’t Paulina.He forgot that he’s not her husband.He forgot that he’s not supposed to feel so damn responsible.“Rico,” she murmurs, stirring against him. “You can put me down now. I can walk. I’m not dizzy anymore.”He blinks, startled. Then glances down. He hadn’t even noticed she was awake. “Shit, sorry,” he says.He gently shifts her off his lap and helps her sit upright. Her skin is still pale but her eyes are clearer.He open

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

#Dorothy’s POV#It’s quiet now. Too quiet. I remember hearing something earlier; muffled voices from the floor above. Something that sounded like a crash, or a door slamming. But I didn’t check. I didn’t want to check. My body’s too tired, my chest's too tight, and my head is way too sore from everything that happened today.Instead, I did what Rico told me. I drank water. I took a warm shower. I let myself rest. Because for once, I didn’t want to think. Not about Joel. Not about Rico. Not about anything. I pulled the covers up to my chin, exhaled slowly, and tried to forget that I exist.The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the sound of the AC vent and the taste of metal at the back of my throat.#•#Something’s wet on my face.And not from tears this time.I blink slowly, eyes struggling to focus. My head’s pounding, my stomach's queasy, and my body aches in places I didn’t even know could ache. It takes a second to realize my pillow feels oddly damp, warm even, and t

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

#Rico’s POV#She was just sitting there.On the cold tile floor, her knees tucked up to her chest and her back slumped against the tub. Her eyes were open but dead. Staring at something on the ground I couldn’t even see. I had pushed her door gently at first, just enough to peek, but when I didn’t see her in bed, panic had cracked through my ribs like glass. That was what led me to the bathroom, that gut feeling, that instinct that something wasn’t right.And God, it wasn’t.There was no blood this time, thank God. At least not like last night. Was I scared when I walked into that bathroom last night? Hell yeah. She was bleeding. Shaking. There was hair on the floor. Mirror smashed. But I didn’t see her as broken. I saw her as someone trying to survive the intensity of something no one prepares for. Cancer isn’t soft. It chews you. And she’s still standing. Still breathing. I just wish she could see what I see. Give herself a little grace. But something was bleeding. Inside her. I s

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

#Dorothy’s POV#It’s colder today.Not in the air exactly, but somewhere beneath my skin. Somewhere in that part of me I’ve stopped paying attention to because if I do, it’ll become real again. The pain. The grief. The failure.I sit up straighter on the clinic recliner even though my head is already spinning a little. My hoodie feels heavy over my body. My scarf is tight. My fingers keep picking at a loose thread on my sleeve, but I don’t stop.Because if I stop, I’ll look around and remember where I am.And I hate where I am.Chemo day. Second round.There’s this annoying IV beep that keeps reminding me I’m not done yet. That this body I’ve dragged here is still failing. Still bleeding, still rejecting me. I haven’t told Rico yet but I had another faint nosebleed this morning after brushing my teeth. Just a short one. I wiped it off with a towel, rinsed it away, and acted like it didn’t happen. Because if I said it out loud, I would break again.Dr Malik said this was expected. That

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

#Joel’s POV#It’s quiet down here. Cold, too.The kind of cold that starts in your chest and just doesn’t go away no matter how many times you pace or how much wine you pour. I’ve lost count of the number of steps I’ve taken. Or the number of times I’ve stared at this stupid paper like it’s going to rewrite itself and suddenly make sense.I hate this letter.It’s in my hand, a single page that feels like a loaded gun pointed straight at my face.“Patient: Dorothy A. Hernandez. Result: Significant drop in LH and FSH levels post first round of chemo. Cortisol markers indicate chronic distress. Recommendation: Urgent reevaluation. Discussion of risk mitigation for further fertility compromise. Addressed to: Mr. Joel Hernandez, spouse and emergency contact.”I almost laugh. Emergency contact, my ass. As if anyone even contacts me anymore. She doesn’t. Rico sure as hell doesn’t. Not unless he wants to lecture me about how to be a better man.The wine bottle’s open. Half empty. I don’t

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

#Dorothy’s POV#I should’ve stopped thinking about him by now. I should’ve.I sit outside, hugging my knees on the cushioned recliner, the morning sun barely making a dent in the cold I feel inside. I don’t even have the energy to pretend anymore. I don’t even know what part hurts the most.Maybe it’s because I still expected something. Even if not love… at least basic decency. But no. Joel had to make sure I heard them.Last night was vile. I mean, what the hell was that?He brought Hillary, his plastic toy—I guess from the tone of voice I heard—into the same villa I was returning to after chemo. He knew I’d be tired. He knew I’d be hurting. And he knew I’d hear.The walls aren’t made of concrete. Not when it comes to screams and moans.I hadn’t even fully stepped out of Rico’s car before I heard the noises. They were already halfway into their act like some deranged performance.It sounded like her. Hillary. Of course it did.Rico had pretended not to hear. He smiled thinly, gently

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

#Rico’s POV#I don’t even know this villa had a gym until today.It’s in one of those quiet wings no one really uses; the ones Joel insists are “too modern” and clean. Everything’s white and glass and echoey in here, but I don’t care. I need this.I wrap my knuckles tighter and slam my fists into the hanging bag, again, again, again, and again. The thud vibrates in my elbows but I welcome it. I need it to distract me. I need it to bury the stuff bubbling up inside.Why am I doing all this for her?Dorothy’s asked me, over and over. She’s not dumb. She sees how much I’m doing and how little I’m saying.And I keep playing it cool. Saying it’s nothing.But it’s not nothing.Because the truth is—I don’t know why I’m doing all this. Or maybe I do.Maybe it’s guilt.I hit harder. Let my breathing get ragged.I’ve been a shit person most of my life. I don’t even need Joel or Paulina to remind me. I know.Atlanta. New York. Even before then. My history’s not clean. Not even close.I can’t for

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

#Joel’s POV#I’m in a good mood today. Not the “happy” kind—don’t get it twisted. It’s that funky, twisted amusement you get when you know you’re about to throw fire on a gas leak and just stand back and watch it burn.It’s been days since we all sat down together. The house has been unusually quiet. Dorothy’s been walking around with those bandaged fingers and distant eyes. Rico’s been acting like her nurse, nanny, and new goddamn husband.And me?I’ve been watching.Every movement. Every lovey-dovey glance. Every whisper they think I don’t hear. Every smile she only gives him now.It’s funny. Disgusting, but funny.So tonight, I’ve planned something. I’ve been preparing all day, even skipped lunch to sharpen it. And now? I’m ready for dinner.The dining room is overly quiet when we gather. The staff already know what’s up. They scurried away like roaches as soon as I walked in. The long glass table holds three plates, steaming. Not a sound except forks tapping ceramic and that stupi

CHAPTER FORTY

#Dorothy’s POV#I wake up panting.My body’s hot, my skin’s clammy, and my heart’s racing like I’d been running through fire in my sleep. My nightdress is twisted around my thigh and my bandaged fingers are clenched so tight I have to peel them open, one by one. My eyes sting and my throat’s sore like I’ve been screaming.Because I had been. In my dreams. I can’t remember all of it, but there was fire. Screams. Joel’s voice. Blood on my hands. Rico yelling. And then black.I felt trapped again. Like everything I’d been pushing down came back up all at once; all the anger, shame and fear came rushing back. Even in my sleep, I couldn’t escape it.I sit up slowly, blinking at the faint orange smear bleeding in from behind the curtains. Dawn. I hadn’t even gotten two full hours of sleep. Not after what happened last night.What Joel said keeps circling. How he called me a curse, said my body was spiritually tainted. Like I brought this on myself. Like being sick is a punishment. And then…

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