Chapter Two

Wren's POV

Inside were the deeds to several properties, a few black cards, and boxes of expensive jewelry.

“After I leave, please give these to Rafael on his wedding day.”

Julian had been by Rafael’s side for over a decade. He was Rafael’s closest friend, and I didn’t know who else I could trust with this.

“Are you out of your mind?” he snapped, his voice low. “If you give all this away, what are you going to live on?”

Thirty days was the doctor’s most optimistic estimate. I might not even last that long.

“Maybe tomorrow. Maybe even tonight.” I lowered my eyes and managed a faint smile. “Once I’m gone, none of this will do me any good. I’d rather leave it to someone who still has a life to live.”

I rested my hand on the bag.

“Rafael raised me for eight years. This is the only way I can thank him.”

As if I’d finally accepted my fate, I suddenly remembered something from six months earlier.

Back then, I couldn’t accept how cold he’d become toward me. Every day, I sat in the hallway outside his study, crying as I waited for him to come back. All I wanted was for him to hear me out.

But each time he walked past, his expression was colder than before.

“When are you going to grow up, Wren? Sitting here crying won’t change anything. Stop embarrassing yourself and go back to your room.”

Back then, those words had nearly broken me.

Now, remembering them didn’t hurt.

The disease was taking my memories, and with them, the pain they carried. As that pain faded, so did the feelings I’d kept buried for so long.

Maybe then I could leave without anything holding me back.

The memory slipped away again. I pushed the bag toward Julian.

“The wedding’s in a week. Please keep these safe until then.”

This was the second surprise I’d prepared for Rafael.

After dinner, I returned to the main house. My phone lit up with a message from Marta. She’d put away everything I’d sent to my parents’ old house. Everything was ready for me to come home.

Most of the tasks in my diary had been crossed off. For the first time since my diagnosis, I felt calm.

Over the next few days, I stayed at the house and repainted my room. Rafael was busy preparing for the wedding. I didn’t see him at all.

Before I left, I wanted to see him one last time. We didn’t have to talk. One look would be enough. I wanted to keep that memory.

The day before I was supposed to leave, I got my wish.

Rafael came home.

Before I could even feel glad to see him, a sharp pain erupted deep inside me. My legs gave out, and I hit the floor hard. The dull thud echoed through the room.

The noise brought him to my door.

I reached for my bottle of painkillers, hoping to hide it before he came in.

My fingertips had barely touched the bottle when the door opened.

Rafael stepped inside.

My hand shook. The bottle slipped from my grasp and shattered on the tile, scattering white pills across the floor.