Novel & Cerita Six Months To Live

"Your father and I will divide the family assets equally between you and Lily. Even if you never work again, you'll live comfortably." Mom sliced some fruit and poured me a glass of milk. I felt tears prick my eyes. It had been a long time since she'd cared for me like this. "Thank you, Mom." I took a sip of warm milk and forced a smile. "Mom, Dad, I want this surgery as soon as possible. Let's schedule it for the day after tomorrow." I'd done the math. That was the day I'd die. I'd end my life on the operating table.

“You have a maximum of one year and six months to live. But it will not get to that.” I chuckled and scratched my brows. One year and six months. My body cooled like a bucket of ice was emptied on it. “With the medication, you can reach that but——“ My phone rang and interrupted him. I wouldn’t have answered but my sister was the one calling and she’d tried before. My phone was on DND plus she never called. I swiped to answer. “It’s Papa…” she croaked, “it’s grandfather, Greyson.” She sobbed into the phone.

he says. I am left in complete shock. “Six months to live!” I whisper slowly, as a tear rolls down my cheek. “That’s right, ma’am. But with chemotherapy, we can extend your life a little longer—up to about two years,” he says. I was still in shock, unable to form words at the terrible news the doctor had just given me, but I tried to pull myself together. “Doctor, may I ask you a favor?” I say, and he immediately nods.

I said as I put the meds he had given me into my bag, “how many months do I have left, I feel like my body is starting to shut down. Dante stared at me deep into my eyes, “You have less than 2 months to live.” ## ## ## ## ​I stood near my car as I recalled what Dante had told me. ​“You have less than two months to live.” ​Dante's words felt like a death sentence hanging over my head, unless I found a healthy heart that matched mine within a month then I am going to die. ​My phone began to vibrate in my pocket, I checked the caller Id only to find out it was an unknown number calling my phone.

He must have looked really handsome when he was younger. “I am glad I have the family here” he began. He displayed some charts showing how bad my condition has gone. It was like an arrow shot through my chest. “We detected an issue with your liver and we don’t know how far gone it is but your body is gradually shutting down” “No doctor, there is something you can do right?” marco asked “Anything doctor, we would do it” “Doctor, how long do I have left?” “Mum??” “We are thinking 3 months, it could be more and it could be less”

Even her bed felt like a five-star hotel mattress. "If I've really been in a coma for six months, I should be dead." Alena stared at the doctor and nurse with deep suspicion. She remembered Dr. Julian Marks's statement that she only had six months to live. The late-stage leukemia Alena suffered from was incurable. Cancer cells had already spread throughout her body. The chemotherapy she'd undergone was only to slow progression—not cure it. If six months had passed, Alena should be dead. But why was she still here? Breathing. Moving. Alive. How was this possible?

he began, voice faltering, “they’ve confirmed it. My illness… it’s not something that can be cured. The prognosis… it’s limited. They’ve estimated… maybe six to eight months.” The words hit me like a physical blow, a cold weight settling into my chest. Six to eight months. It was finite, too finite. Lucian tightened his hand around mine. “We’ll face this,” he said firmly. “Every day. Every moment.” I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Dad… we’ll make it meaningful. Every single day counts. We’ll do this together.”

Late stage? My brain froze. So the nausea, the vomiting, that night in the cistern when I coughed up blood—it wasn't the strega's potions. It wasn't pregnancy. It was cancer. But I didn't feel fear. Not even despair. "How long?" "With treatment... maybe six weeks. The Don will—" Even braced for it, my heart still cracked. Six weeks. Orlando and I used to dream about a future—kids, laughter, a life that felt whole.

“So you’re just going to let him die? You won’t even try?” “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try. I said I wouldn’t use the experimental treatment.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, sit down. You’re making me nervous standing there like you’re about to put your fist through my desk.” I didn’t sit. “What other options are there?” “Standard treatment. Palliative care. Make him comfortable for whatever time he has left.” “How much time?” “Without intervention? Six months. Maybe less.” Six months.

Too soft. “It doesn’t even matter anymore.” My stomach twisted. “What do you mean?” She shrugged. “I don’t have time to fight this shit.” Something about her tone set off alarms in my head. “What time?” I asked carefully. She smiled at me. A sad, tired smile that did not belong on someone her age. “Four months,” she murmured. “That’s what the doctor said.” The room tilted. “What?” I breathed. She blinked slowly, like she forgot she dropped a bomb. “Yeah. But now, I have just two months left to live.”