Chapter 1 Hope
Valentina
The steady beep of the heart monitor had become the soundtrack of my life, an unyielding rhythm marking every fragile moment left with my father.
Three weeks ago, that sound might have grated on my nerves.
Now, I dreaded every pause between the beeps, the hesitation that reminded me how quickly time was slipping away.
I sat beside his hospital bed, my fingers curled gently around his frail hand. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting a soft golden glow that tried to breathe warmth into the sterile room. But it was a lie. Everything in this sterile, quiet place was fading. Dying. Including him.
The thought squeezed my chest so tightly I nearly couldn’t breathe.
The doctors no longer sugarcoated the truth.
Stage four.
Metastatic.
Aggressive.
Terminal.
Those words had become etched in my nightmares.
Three weeks.
Maybe four, if luck or miracles dared visit.
I wasn’t foolish enough to believe in miracles anymore.
Dad’s hand gave mine a weak squeeze. “Tina.”
The nickname was rough when it came from him now, his voice once filled boardrooms, auditoriums, libraries, even the corners of my childhood. Now it barely rose above a whisper.
I forced a smile. “Hey.”
His tired eyes searched mine, the same warm brown eyes I’d inherited, the same eyes that had always looked at me like I was the center of his universe.
“You look exhausted.”
I chuckled softly, despite the ache in my gut. “Says the man living in a hospital bed.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. For a brief moment, I saw the father I’d always known.
Then cancer stole that too.
Silence settled between us like a thick fog. Neither of us wanted to speak the truth looming over the room.
Finally, he broke the stillness. “Tina.”
“Dad.”
“You know what I want.”
I closed my eyes, already weary of this conversation.
For a week now, he’d brought it up every single day... not confusion, not forgetfulness, but relentless determination.
“I know.”
“I want to walk you down the aisle.”
There it was.
His final wish. Not a bucket list adventure. Not a last fishing trip. Not a grand farewell.
Just that. A wedding. My wedding.
I looked down at our entwined hands. “Dad—”
“No.” His voice was gentle but unyielding.
The same tone he used when I was ten and begged to quit piano lessons.
The same tone he used when I was seventeen and convinced I’d never make it through college.
The same tone when I was twenty-four, terrified to launch Kane Publishing.
“No excuses.”
I laughed, though a lump formed in my throat. “Excuses? Dad, I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“Get one.”
I stared at him, disbelief flashing in my eyes.
He met my gaze, deadly serious.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You make it sound like I can just order one online.”
A slow smile curved his cracked lips. “You order everything else online.”
I groaned.
He chuckled weakly, then coughed... a harsh, ragged sound that tore through me.
I waited until it passed before speaking again. “I don’t want a relationship.”
His expression softened, full of understanding. “I know.”
“You know why.”
“I know.”
I swallowed hard.
Of course he knew.
He’d been there through it all, the broken promises, the betrayals, the lies.
The revolving door of men my mother let in and out of her life.
Men who left, who hurt her, who took pieces of her heart with them.
I had spent years watching love destroy people I loved.
I didn’t want to be part of that.
I had my company. My books. My authors. My life.
That was enough.
More than enough.
“I’ve never wanted marriage.”
His eyes shimmered with quiet sadness. “Tina.”
“Dad, seriously.... I’ve never even had a relationship. Sex doesn’t count.” I choked on the words.
He laughed, a sound that shook the room but lifted my heart. “You know what I mean. Please stop avoiding this.”
I dropped my head into my free hand.
He was impossible. Even now. Especially now.
After a long pause, his voice softened. “I just want to know someone will be there.”
My chest tightened. “Dad…”
“When I’m gone.”
Those words shattered something deep inside me.
I looked away.
Because if I looked at him, I’d break.
And if I broke, he’d see exactly how terrified I was.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No.” His answer was immediate, certain. “You’ll survive.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means surviving isn’t the same as living.”
Silence fell again, thick and heavy.
My throat burned with unshed tears.
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
I blinked, once, twice, three times, desperate to hold myself together.
But my father always saw through me.
Even now.
Even like this.
“I’ll think about it.”
A lie.
A terrible one.
We both knew it.
But he smiled anyway.
Because it was the closest thing to hope I could give him.
And right now…
Hope was all either of us had left.
A soft knock broke the heavy silence.
The door creaked open, and a nurse stepped in, carrying a tablet. Her smile was gentle, the kind worn by those who had weathered years of grief and heartbreak, yet still managed to offer a quiet kindness.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said softly.
Dad squeezed my hand one last time before letting go.
“You’re not interrupting anything,” I whispered, though it was a lie neither of us wanted to admit.
The nurse glanced between us, her eyes flickering with a practiced empathy. “They’re ready for your CT scan.”
My stomach twisted into knots. Another test. Another scan. Another reminder that nothing was getting better. That time was slipping away.
Dad sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and frustration. “See? They’re always poking me.”
I rolled my eyes, forcing a smile I couldn’t quite summon. “You complain more than anyone in this hospital.”
“Damn right I do.”
The nurse laughed softly, stepping back into the hallway. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
The door closed behind her, and the silence returned, settling over us like a thick, suffocating blanket.
The comfortable kind of silence.
The painful kind.
The kind that exists when neither person wants to say goodbye, even if it’s only for a few hours.
I rose slowly from my chair, my knees protesting every movement. I’d grown too accustomed to these stiff limbs, too many nights spent sleeping upright in cold hospital chairs.
Dad’s tired eyes tracked me. “You should go home.”
I snorted, bitter. “I have work.”
“That’s not better.”
“I suppose it’s slightly better.”
“Tina.”
I wagged a finger at him. “Don’t.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile.
I bent down, carefully tucking the blanket around his shoulders, a ritual I’d repeated a thousand times in these endless weeks. The small things were all I could do for him now. Cancer had taken everything else.
My throat tightened, a lump forming that refused to move.
I pressed a kiss to the top of his thinning hair.
For a long second, neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
Because deep down, that terrifying thought hovered in the air...
What if this is the last time?
It haunted every goodbye, every visit, every hug, every whispered phone call.
I hated it.
“I love you, Dad.”
His hand found mine one last time, warm and fragile. “I love you too, Tina.” And then he smiled.
That same warm smile I’d seen my entire life... the one that made me feel like I was six years old again, safe and small in his arms.
“Think about what I said.”
I groaned, exhaustion and frustration bubbling up. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m serious.”
“Dad.”
“One wedding.”
I laughed through the ache. “Rest.”
“One wedding.”
“Goodbye.”
“One husband.”
“Dad!”
His laughter echoed down the hallway, fragile and fading.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything.
