Chapter 2

Sarah froze in my arms.

For a moment, all the coldness, all the carefully constructed walls, fell away, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock.

She tried to push me away, her hands flat against my chest.

"What are you talking about? Alex, let go of me. You're losing your mind."

Her voice was sharp, but there was a new tremor in it, a flicker of fear.

I held on tighter, refusing to let her create distance between us.

"No," I said, my voice low and determined. "I'm not letting you go. Not again."

She shoved me hard, finally breaking my grip. She stumbled back, putting the kitchen table between us like a shield.

"I told you, it's over," she said, her composure returning, her voice hardening with every word. "This is the third time I've brought you these papers, Alex. I'm tired of this. I have a new boyfriend, Liam. He's an investment banker, he's stable, and he's not wasting his life on some fantasy video game."

Liam. The name hit me like a physical blow.

In my past life, the mention of him, this phantom successful man, had been one more nail in the coffin of my self-esteem.

Now, I just felt a surge of pity for the poor, struggling actor she must have hired.

"Stop it, Sarah," I said, my voice pleading. "Just stop the act. I know. I know about the glioblastoma."

The name of the disease hung in the air between us, heavy and ugly.

Her face went pale, a stark contrast to the determined flush that had been there moments before.

Her denial was immediate, almost too quick.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped. "You're delusional. You're probably stressed from your project failing again."

She turned away from me, her movements jerky. She grabbed her purse from the counter, her hands fumbling as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

She hadn't smoked in years.

Not since her mother was diagnosed.

Her hands shook as she lit the cigarette, the flame dancing wildly. She took a long, deep drag, the smoke billowing around her head like a protective shroud.

"I'm serious, Alex," she said, her voice muffled by the smoke. "We're done. I want you out of this house by the end of the week."

I watched the smoke curl around her, watched her use it as a weapon to obscure her face, to hide the truth.

I remembered the diagnosis paper she held at my grave.

I knew she kept it.

In my first life, I found it months after she left, tucked away in an old book, long after I'd accepted she was gone.

I walked over to the bookshelf in the living room, my heart pounding. I pulled out a worn copy of 'One Hundred Years of Solitude,' her favorite.

I flipped through the pages.

And there it was.

A folded piece of paper from the university hospital.

I walked back into the kitchen, holding it out to her.

"Then what is this?" I asked, my voice raw. "What is this, Sarah?"

She looked at the paper in my hand, and for a split second, her mask crumbled completely.

I saw a flash of pure terror in her eyes, the panic of a cornered animal.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by an icy rage.

She lunged forward, snatching the paper from my hand.

She didn't even read it. She knew what it was.

She ripped it into tiny pieces, her movements frantic and violent.

The shreds of paper fluttered to the floor like toxic confetti.

She looked up at me, her eyes blazing.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice dangerously low. "It's a fake. Something you probably cooked up to manipulate me into staying."

She took another drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke directly in my face.

"It won't work. I'm leaving you, Alex. Whether you sign the papers or not, I am leaving. It's over."

She dropped the cigarette into the sink, where it sizzled and died.

Without another word, she turned and walked out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

The sound echoed in the silent house.

I stood there, surrounded by the torn pieces of her secret, the faint smell of her perfume, and the acrid scent of smoke.

She was a fortress.

And I had to find a way to break down her walls before it was too late.

This time, I wouldn't let her win. I wouldn't let her die alone.