Maya stared at the filing receipt, surprised.
She and Elara had been close friends for over ten years, and in all that time, Maya had witnessed just how deeply Elara loved Julian.
There was a time when Elara would have died for him, and no one would have doubted it.
They got married a year ago. Maya had smiled at the wedding, even though something about their relationship felt off.
But still, Elara had gotten what she wanted. That had been enough for Maya.
Now this…
What had happened?
“I don’t love him anymore,” Elara said before Maya could ask.
She looked over and gave a small, calm smile.
In that smile, Maya caught a glimpse of the old Elara—the one from before everything fell apart, before grief etched deep lines into her face, before her father’s death and the downfall of the Vance family changed her.
It brought Maya a strange sense of peace.
“Julian doesn’t know I’m pregnant,” Elara said calmly. “And before the divorce is final, I don’t want to take any risks. It’s better if he doesn’t know.”
If either party had a change of heart before the divorce was finalized, they could withdraw the application, and the process would be halted.
And that was when Maya knew that Elara was serious about divorcing Julian.
After taking it all in, Maya did what was necessary: she scheduled Elara’s medical tests and then advised her carefully, “Wait a few days before the surgery.”
Elara frowned in confusion. “Why?”
“You know your blood type—Rh-negative. It’s rare. We need time to prepare a blood supply, just in case. I’ve already contacted the blood bank. They said it might take a week.”
Elara fell silent. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.
She had inherited that blood type from her father. And now she missed him all over again.
If he were still here…
“Okay.” Elara nodded slowly. A smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes turned red.
“You also have early signs of a miscarriage. You need to be careful these next few days,” Maya added, her voice full of concern.
They had grown up together, and Maya knew Elara’s sadness all too well.
She held Elara’s hand. “Wait for me. My shift’s almost over. I’ll go home with you.”
Elara nodded and went to wait in the hallway.
She looked down at her stomach.
Early signs of a miscarriage.
Did the baby know what she had decided and want to leave first?
Pursing her lips, Elara walked toward the lab for her tests.
Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification.
She had opened a new account—one Julian wouldn’t know about. She was keeping her finances completely separate before the divorce was finalized.
Every cent she earned from now on would go into that account.
A second message followed. “Payment for the composition and lyrics has been completed. Finance has sent the transfer. Kindly confirm.”
Before she married Julian, Elara had worked quietly as an anonymous songwriter.
Music had always been her first love. Back when her father was alive, life had been good, and she lacked for nothing.
As the Vance family’s only daughter, she had the freedom and the means to nurture her talent.
The turns her life had taken had taught her lessons she never knew she needed.
Perhaps her father never imagined that the pastime he once encouraged would one day be the very thing that kept her afloat.
Elara paused, then typed back, “Money received. Thank you.”
The reply came quickly. “It’s what you deserve. You’ve written many hits over the years. Why don’t you come back? There’s a new show coming up. It’s a perfect fit for you. I’ve sent the details to your email. I’ve reserved a contestant slot just for you.”
Elara opened her email. A new message sat at the top, inviting her to join a music competition show.
The format was familiar, but this one required original work.
She typed a quick reply. “I’ll think about it.”
Then she set her phone down. A light cramp tightened in her lower belly.
She thought of her father again.
The second time today.
…
Meanwhile, the internet was buzzing with updates.
#SeraphinaRiversStomachCancer
#FloristSeraphinaRiversCountdown
#LastSixMonths
The most trending post was a video of a reporter summarizing the news about Seraphina.
“Sources confirm that the well-known floral designer, Seraphina Rivers, has been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She’s been given six months to live. But instead of retreating, she’s choosing to document her remaining time—she wants to share her life with the world as it comes to an end.”
The video cut to Seraphina. She looked at the camera with a sad smile.
“In these last six months, I’ll be posting updates about my life. I’m not doing this for attention. I just want to offer some comfort to others going through the same thing. I hope you all stay strong.”
Then the reporter returned to the screen.
“There have long been rumors about Miss Rivers and Mr. Julian Croft, CEO of the Croft Corporation. But Mr. Croft is married. It remains to be seen if he’ll reconnect with Miss Rivers during her final months.”
In the background, Seraphina seemed to have heard that part. She stepped forward, stopped beside the reporter, and gently interrupted.
She faced the camera.
“I’m not ashamed to admit I like Julian. He’s an incredible man,” she said. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. But I want to make it clear—I’m not going to break up someone’s marriage. That’s not who I am.”
With that, she walked off, leaving the reporter behind.
She moved through the small crowd with a smile and got into a waiting car.
A foreign caregiver from Crestwood Clinic passed her a glass of water, their hand paused in mid-air, hesitant.
“You look like you want to say something,” Seraphina said, her voice cold. “Go ahead. The driver is one of ours.”
The caregiver leaned in and lowered their voice. “Miss Rivers, your diagnosis… it’s a stomach ulcer. Having our facility change that to cancer is already risky. But now you’re sharing it with the public online?”
Seraphina let out a sharp laugh, startling the caregiver.
“Your facility—is it a licensed medical facility?” she asked.
The caregiver nodded.
“And does it manage my medical records privately?”
The caregiver nodded again.
“Is that what my medical record says—that I have six months left because of terminal stomach cancer?”
The caregiver hesitated before nodding once more.
“Exactly!” Seraphina leaned back with a smile. “It’s official, then. No one can question it.”
“But you don’t actually have stomach cancer. What happens later…”
“There are two ways out,” Seraphina said, cutting in. Her voice was sharper now, her eyes harder. “One: I make a miraculous recovery during treatment at your facility or somewhere else, perhaps because of all the love I’ve received. Two: your facility gets blamed for a diagnostic error and months of incorrect treatment.”
She turned her face to the caregiver, her expression intimidating. “Which option do you prefer?”
The caregiver looked panicked but forced out the words. “I’m sorry, Miss Rivers. I understand. You’ve already thought everything through.”
Seraphina gave a short, cold smile.
“Where should we go next, Miss Rivers?” the caregiver asked, attempting to lighten the mood.
Seraphina glanced at her phone. “Sterling Medical Center.”
The caregiver stiffened. “But—”
“Relax. I’m only going in for pain relief with my medical record,” Seraphina said, then reached for her phone and sent Julian a message, telling him to meet her at the hospital later.
Almost instantly, he replied, “Sure.”
Meanwhile, Elara stood in the hospital restroom, a steady ache in her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, a smear of blood clear against the white.
It was an early sign of a miscarriage.
Click here to continue reading…
About the Author
