Zara stared at the filing receipt, shocked. She and Lyra had been friends for over a decade, and she had witnessed the depth of Lyra’s love for Caspian. There was a time Lyra would have died for him without a second thought.
They had married a year ago. Zara had smiled at the wedding, though she always felt something was off about them as a couple. Still, Lyra had gotten what she wanted, and that had been enough for Zara.
But now this… What had happened?
“I don’t love him anymore,” Lyra said, anticipating the question. She looked up and offered a small, serene smile.
In that smile, Zara saw a flicker of the old Lyra—the one from before her world had crumbled, before her father’s death and the fall of the Sanford family. It brought Zara a strange sense of relief.
“Caspian doesn’t know I’m pregnant,” Lyra continued calmly. “And I don’t want to take any chances before the divorce is final. It’s better if he never finds out.”
If either party had a change of heart before the final decree, the application could be withdrawn. Zara now understood that Lyra was serious about this divorce.
Taking it all in, Zara did what was necessary. She scheduled Lyra’s medical tests, then advised, “Wait a few days before the surgery.”
Lyra frowned. “Why?”
“You know your blood type—Rh-negative. It’s rare. We need time to source a supply, just in case. I’ve already contacted the blood bank. They said it could take a week.”
Lyra fell silent, the sadness in her eyes unmistakable. She had inherited that blood type from her father, and a fresh wave of grief washed over her. If he were still here…
“Okay,” Lyra nodded slowly. A smile touched her lips, but her eyes were red-rimmed.
“You’re also showing early signs of miscarriage. You need to be careful for the next few days,” Zara added, her voice laced with concern. They had grown up together; Zara knew her friend’s pain all too well. She took Lyra’s hand. “Wait for me. My shift is almost over. I’ll go home with you.”
Lyra nodded and went to wait in the hallway. She looked down at her stomach. Early signs of miscarriage. Did the baby sense her decision and want to leave on its own terms?
Pursing her lips, Lyra walked toward the lab for her tests. Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification for a new account she had opened, one Caspian knew nothing about. She was keeping her finances separate now. Every cent she earned from this day forward would go into it.
A second message followed. “Payment for composition and lyrics has been processed. Finance has sent the transfer. Please confirm.”
Before marrying Caspian, Lyra had been a quiet but successful anonymous songwriter. Music was her first love. Back when her father was alive and life was generous, she had wanted for nothing. As the Sanford family’s only daughter, she’d had the freedom to nurture her talent. Life had taught her lessons she never knew she needed. Perhaps her father had never imagined that the pastime he encouraged would one day become her lifeline.
Lyra paused, then typed back, “Received. Thank you.”
The reply came quickly from Silas Croft, a legendary music producer and a friend of her late father. “It’s what you deserve. You’ve written a lot of hits over the years. Why don’t you come back? There’s a new show coming up that would be perfect for you. I’ve sent the details to your email and reserved a contestant slot.”
Lyra opened her email. An invitation to a music competition show sat at the top. The format was familiar, but this one emphasized original work.
She typed a quick reply. “I’ll think about it.”
She set her phone down as a light cramp tightened in her lower abdomen. She thought of her father again. The second time that day.
…
Meanwhile, the internet was ablaze with news.
#IsoldeFinchStomachCancer
#FloristIsoldeFinchsFinalDays
#LastSixMonths
The top trending post was a video of a reporter summarizing Isolde’s situation. “Sources have confirmed that renowned floral designer Isolde Finch has been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer and given six months to live. Instead of retreating, she has chosen to document her final days, sharing her life with the world as it comes to a close.”
The video cut to Isolde, who looked at the camera with a sad smile. “In these last six months, I’ll be posting updates on my life. I’m not doing this for attention, but to offer comfort to others going through the same ordeal. I hope you all stay strong.”
The reporter reappeared. “There have long been rumors about Miss Finch and Mr. Caspian Thorne, CEO of Thorne Enterprises. However, Mr. Thorne is a married man. It remains to be seen if he will reconnect with Miss Finch during her final months.”
In the background, Isolde seemed to overhear. She stepped forward and gently interrupted the reporter. Facing the camera, she said, “I’m not ashamed to admit I like Caspian. He’s an incredible man. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. But I want to be clear—I will not break up a marriage. That’s not who I am.”
With that, she walked away, weaving through the small crowd with a smile before climbing into a waiting car.
The foreign caregiver from Aveline passed her a glass of water, hesitating.
“You look like you want to say something,” Isolde said, her voice cold. “Go on. The driver is one of ours.”
The caregiver leaned in. “Miss Finch, your diagnosis… it’s a stomach ulcer. Having our facility falsify that into cancer is already a huge risk. But now you’re publicizing it online?”
Isolde let out a sharp laugh that startled the caregiver. “Your facility—is it a licensed medical institution?” she asked.
The caregiver nodded.
“And does it manage my medical records privately?”
Another nod.
“And do those records state that I have six months to live due to terminal stomach cancer?”
The caregiver hesitated before nodding again.
“Exactly!” Isolde leaned back with a triumphant smile. “It’s official. No one can question it.”
“But you don’t actually have cancer. What happens later…”
“There are two ways out,” Isolde cut in, her eyes hard. “One: I make a miraculous recovery, perhaps due to all the love I’ve received. Two: your facility is blamed for a diagnostic error and months of incorrect treatment.” She turned to face the caregiver fully. “Which option do you prefer?”
The caregiver looked panicked. “I’m sorry, Miss Finch. I understand. You’ve thought of everything.”
Isolde gave a short, cold smile.
“Where to next, Miss Finch?” the caregiver asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Isolde glanced at her phone. “St. Jude’s Medical Center.”
The caregiver stiffened. “But—”
“Relax. I’m just going for some pain relief using my medical record,” Isolde said, then sent a message to Caspian, asking him to meet her at the hospital.
He replied almost instantly, “Sure.”
Meanwhile, Lyra stood in the hospital restroom, a steady ache in her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, stark white against a smear of blood.
It was an early sign of a miscarriage.
***
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