Maya stared at the filing receipt, surprised.
She and Elara had been close friends for more than ten years, and in all that time, Maya had seen just how hard Elara loved Julian.
There was a time Elara could have died for him, and nobody would have questioned it.
They got married a year ago. Maya had smiled at the wedding, even though something about their pairing 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 collapsed, before grief carved deep lines into her, before her father’s death and the fall of the Vance family changed her.
It brought Maya a strange sense of calm.
“Julian doesn’t know I’m pr**nant,” Elara said calmly. “And before the divorce becomes final, I don’t want to take any risks. It’s better if he doesn’t know.”
If either party changed their mind before the divorce was finalized, they could take back the application, and the procedure would no longer go through.
And that was when Maya knew that Elara wasn’t playing around about divorcing Julian.
After taking it all in, Maya did what needed to be done: she booked Elara’s medical tests and then advised carefully, “Wait a few days before the surgery.”
Elara frowned in confusion. “Why?”
“You know your bl**d type–Rh-negative. It’s rare. We need time to prepare bl**d, just in case. I’ve already contacted the bl**d bank. They said it might take a week.”
Elara went quiet. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.
She had gotten that bl**d 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 mi**arriage. You need to be careful these next few days,” Maya added, her voice full of concern.
They’d grown up together, and Maya knew Elara’s sadness too well.
She held Elara’s hand. “Wait for me. My shift’s almost over. I’ll go home with you.”
Elara nodded, and then went to wait in the hallway.
She looked down at her stomach.
Early signs of mi**arriage.
Did the baby know what she’d decided and want to leave first?
Pursing her lips, Elara walked toward the lab for the tests.
Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification.
She had opened a new account–one that Julian wouldn’t know about. She was keeping her money cleanly separate before the divorce was finalized.
Every cent she earned from now on would live in that account.
A second message followed. “Payment for 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 generous, and she lacked nothing.
As the Vance family’s only daughter, she had the freedom and the means to grow her gift.
The turns her life had taken had taught her things she hadn’t known she needed to learn.
Maybe her father never thought that the pastime he once encouraged would one day be the very thing keeping her afloat.
Elara paused, and then typed back, “Money received. Thank you.”
The reply came quickly from Marcus Thorne, 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 return? There’s a new show coming up. It fits you perfectly. I’ve sent details to your email. 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, like others she had seen before, but this one wanted something original.
She typed out a quick reply. “I’ll think about it.”
Then she set her phone down. A light cramp curled 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 featuring 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 winds down.”
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 it 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 came back on screen.
“There have long been whispers about Miss Rivers and Mr. Julian Croft, CEO of Croft Group. 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 cut in.
She faced the camera.
“I’m not ashamed to say 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.”
Having said that, she walked off, leaving the reporter behind.
She wove through the small crowd with a smile, and climbed into a waiting car.
The foreign caregiver from Flaville passed her a glass of water, hand paused in midair, unsure.
“You look like you want to say something,” Seraphina said, her voice cold. “Go ahead. The driver’s 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 into cancer is already risky. But now you’re sharing it with the public online?”
Seraphina gave 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 record privately?”
The caregiver gave another nod.
“Is that what my medical record says–that I have six months left because of terminal stomach cancer?”
The caregiver hesitated before nodding again.
“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, maybe because of all the love I’ve received. Two: your facility gets blamed for a diagnostic error and months of wrong treatment.”
She turned her face fully to the caregiver, looking more 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 in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Seraphina glanced at her phone. “Crobert Hospital.”
The caregiver stiffened. “But–“
“Relax. I’m only going in for pain relief with my medical record,” Seraphina said, and 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 pulling at her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, the smear of bl**d clear against the white.
It was an early sign of a mi**arriage.