Chapter 2

"We're looking at six months, Ethan. Maybe a year, if you respond well to the palliative chemotherapy."

Dr. Chen's words were a death sentence. He delivered them with as much compassion as he could, but there was no softening the blow. A year. Twelve months. That's all I had left.

Chloe sat beside me, her hand gripping mine so tightly her knuckles were white. She didn't say anything in the doctor's office. She just sat there, a statue of supportive silence. I could feel her trembling.

The moment we stepped out into the hallway, her composure shattered. She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with silent, gut-wrenching sobs.

I knelt beside her, my own grief a heavy weight in my chest. "Chloe," I whispered, putting my arm around her. "It's okay."

It was a stupid thing to say. Nothing was okay. But I didn't know what else to do.

She looked up at me, her eyes red and swollen. "No, it's not okay, Ethan! It's not fair!"

Her grief was so raw, so pure, it was almost more painful than my own. She wasn't crying for herself; she was crying for me.

After a few minutes, she took a shaky breath and pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm calling Sarah," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "She needs to know. She has to know how bad it is. Maybe... maybe she'll come back."

I knew it was a fool's errand. I knew Sarah better than that. But I saw the desperate hope in Chloe's eyes and I couldn't bring myself to stop her. She needed to do this. She needed to see the truth for herself.

She pressed the call button and put the phone on speaker. It rang once, twice, three times.

"What do you want?" Sarah's voice was sharp, annoyed. She was probably shopping.

"Sarah, it's Chloe," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm with Ethan. We just left the doctor's office. They... they gave him a timeline."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. I could hear the faint sound of music, the chatter of a crowd.

"And? What does that have to do with me?" Sarah asked.

Chloe flinched as if she'd been slapped. "He's dying, Sarah! He has maybe a year left. I thought you would want to... to see him."

A dry, humorless laugh came through the speaker. "See him? Why would I do that? So I can watch him wither away? No, thank you. I've got my money. I've got my life to live. He's your problem now. You always wanted him, anyway. Well, you've got him. Enjoy."

The line went dead.

Chloe stared at the phone, her face a mask of disbelief and horror. The hope in her eyes died, replaced by a burning anger.

"How could she?" Chloe whispered, her voice shaking with rage. "How can anyone be that... that cruel?"

She looked at me, and a fresh wave of tears streamed down her face. This time, they weren't just for me. They were tears of shame, of guilt for ever thinking that woman had a shred of decency left in her.

"I'm so sorry, Ethan," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry I put you through that."

I pulled her into a hug, holding on tight. Her call had been pointless, but it had served a purpose. It had shown both of us, beyond any doubt, exactly who Sarah Jenkins was. She was a monster. And my plan, which had been a vague idea born of shock and betrayal, began to solidify in my mind. It would be my final project. My masterpiece. And Sarah would be the star of the show.