Six Months To Live Novels & Stories

"My father never agreed to that timeline. He let me believe it, because it kept me from looking too closely at what he's actually building." "What is he building." "I don't know yet. Not all of it." He stopped pacing. "But the merger closes in sixty days. Not six months. This contract was never built for the real timeline." I sat down on the concrete curb between two parking spaces. My legs suddenly unwilling to hold the rest of me up. Sixty days. Leo's recovery would barely be finished by then. "You should have told me all of this before I signed." "I know." "You should be telling me to walk away right now."

A FRAGILE HOPE Isabella “You have six to eight months left to live.” The doctor's words crashed into me like a death sentence. Six months. Maybe eight at most and that is if I am lucky. The hospital clock ticked louder, making every borrowed breath heavier than the last. Every passing second felt like sand slipping through an hourglass. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of swallowing forced pills, empty arms, silent tears, and prayers that never seemed to reach heaven.

I explained. “Then, what about the drug? There has to be something, right? Anything at all that would help!” I shook my head. “There is nothing,” I explained. “The doctor said there isn't a known antidote yet and that I have two to three months to live, he said it like I should prepare for it. I am being given an ultimatum, I have kids, the company, who would look after them when I am gone?” She shook her head. “Nothing would happen to you,”

Javier said, his voice cracking despite how hard he tried to sound strong. “I am sorry sir…but treatment… may be too late at this stage.” The doctor says. “What? What do you mean?” Sofia asked. “Ms. Javier has less than six months left to live.”

“I have half a year to live?” Layla repeated, letting the words sink in as they echoed in her ears. Her eyes widened as she struggled to comprehend what the doctor had just told her. Layla refused to accept it. She shook her head slowly. There was no way she was the one with only six months to live. There had to be a mistake. Perhaps the doctor was wrong. Perhaps the results weren’t hers. Her breathing turned shaky as she crawled her hands toward the doctor, clutching his coat tightly. He reached for her hands, holding them as her body trembled, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Especially when something interests me." "I am not a thing." "No." Something dangerous flickered across his face. "You are not." My phone buzzed in my purse. Another hospital notification, another reminder that time was bleeding out faster than I could catch it. Declan's gaze dropped to my bag, then back to my face. "How long does he have?" he asked quietly. "Without the treatment?" The question was a knife between my ribs. "Six months. Maybe less." "And with it?" "A chance." My voice cracked. "Just a chance. But that is more than he has now."

he said to me through the phone. "Well, I think what you meant is that we will discuss about how to prolong my suffering so that I won't die in less than six months; if not, I don't think my situation is going to get better unless you have found a permanent cure for my illness," I said to him, and with that he sighed heavily.

Six months to live with my family while also maintaining the gap. Then I have to die permanently and become death itself forever. Alistair heard this through our mate bond and his face shows devastation. “Six months,” he repeats. “We get six months before you die permanently.” “Six months is better than losing everyone now,” I argue. “Is it?” he asks. “Or did you just delay the inevitable while making it worse? Six months of having you fully present knowing it ends versus losing you quick. I don’t know which is crueler.”

Because Ronald had explained to her that he didn’t have that much time anymore. “I spoke to the doctor and he said the illness is spreading rapidly in her heart. It can carry on for so long” He had said and his voice was like a piercing sound through her ears. “But six months—he said we had six months but it’s only been three?” Cynthia stuttered. “It was just a figure but the actual prognosis doesn’t look good. I left when i found out because i was unwilling to put you all through that—especially you, Cynthia” He reached for her hands but she pushed him in his chest with tears streaming down her face.

I asked and he stared at me, maybe surprised because of my negativity. "maybe 5 years, " he said and I smiled at him and asked, "and with all the honesty you have?" he sighed. "If I'm going to be negative, 1 year, " he said and I asked the question that I'm most afraid of "and without any treatment how much time do I have?" "maximum six months, " he said and I nodded my head and said "thank you so much, doctor, " and headed out of the hospital. I sat on a bench and started crying when suddenly I heard a voice say "I'm going to kill whoever caused your pain, " I looked up and saw Matteo I gasped and got up.