The hospital smelled like antiseptic and artificial lemon.
Elena stood at the glass doors of the University Medical Center in Northwynn, her heart thudding in her chest like a drum out of rhythm. She'd taken the earliest train she could get, racing across the city with her bag barely zipped and her throat dry.
It wasn't supposed to be this bad.
It wasn't supposed to be terminal.
Nadine met her in the atrium.
She looked like Diana—same dark brows, same long fingers—but the resemblance ended there. Nadine was sharper, colder. Her hair was clipped short, her suit ironed crisp.
"Thank you for coming," she said with no warmth, but no malice either.
"Where is she?" Elena asked.
"Palliative wing. Room 611. She's conscious, but only barely. They've got her on a pain drip."
Elena nodded, unable to speak.
The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors opened, she found herself in a hallway that smelled of quiet endings. The lights were dim, the walls painted soft green, the silence broken only by distant monitors.
Room 611.
Diana lay curled on the hospital bed like a bird trying to make itself smaller. Her skin was yellowed now, her hair mostly gone, her eyes sunken. But when she saw Elena, something in her shifted—a flicker of recognition that melted into a whisper of a smile.
"You came," she said. Her voice was little more than air.
"Always," Elena replied, stepping to her side.
She sat down, took Diana's frail hand in hers, and held on.
The days blurred.
Elena took leave from work. Maya brought her extra clothes and meals in Tupperware. Nadine hovered around the hospital, managing paperwork and insurance forms, never staying long in the room.
Diana drifted in and out of sleep, sometimes lucid, sometimes not.
One afternoon, she opened her eyes and murmured, "Did you call him?"
Elena hesitated. "Daniel? No… I didn't know if I should."
"He should know."
Elena nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll try to reach him."
She found his number in Diana's phone.
When he picked up, his voice was filled with surprise.
"Elena?"
"It's… Diana. She's in the hospital. She's not—she's not doing well."
There was a long pause.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"She didn't want to worry you," Elena said gently. "She said you had things to finish."
Daniel exhaled hard, then went quiet.
"Where is she?"
"Northwynn. University Hospital."
"I'll be on the next flight."
He didn't make it in time.
Diana passed away two nights later—softly, like a candle going out in a quiet room. Elena was holding her hand when her breathing slowed, then stopped.
No final words. No dramatic last breath.
Just a sigh.
And stillness.
The funeral was small. Just a few close friends, some former students, and Diana's sister, who handled most of the arrangements with mechanical efficiency.
Elena spoke, though her voice broke halfway through.
"She was the first person who gave me a reason to believe I had a future. When I had no one, she stood in the space my mother left behind. Not as a replacement, but as proof that love didn't end just because someone died."
She didn't remember much after that.
A few days later, her phone buzzed with a message.
Daniel Gray:
I just got in. I'm so sorry, Elena. Can we meet? Please.
They met at a quiet café near the edge of Northwynn's university district. The kind of place where the music stayed low and the air smelled of cinnamon and espresso. Elena arrived first and chose a booth in the back, half-shielded from view. Her hands were clammy as she wrapped them around a cup of tea she had no intention of drinking.
When Daniel walked in, the entire room seemed to pause. Or maybe she just did.
He looked older than before. His face drawn tighter, his posture heavier. His coat was the same one he'd worn that winter, but it hung looser now. He spotted her, nodded once, and made his way over.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi."
He sat across from her and looked down at his hands for a long moment before speaking.
"I should've come sooner."
"You didn't know. She didn't want you to."
"Still."
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
"She was—" he began, but the words didn't come. He swallowed, looked out the window, then back at her. "You were with her?"
Elena nodded. "At the end, yes."
He exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
The conversation turned to small things—how her job was going, how Diana had been the last few months, how the weather had been unpredictable. None of it mattered, but both needed to say something, anything, to fill the void between them.
Then Daniel reached into his coat and pulled out a manila envelope.
"What's that?"
"I wasn't sure when to bring this up," he said, pushing it toward her. "But Diana and I talked about you. A lot."
Elena stared at the envelope without touching it.
"What is it?"
"Information on graduate programs. In Sorellia. The same country I've been working in. Diana mentioned how hard things have been for you. And how talented you are."
Elena blinked.
"She wanted you to have options. I know I'm not family. I've only met you once before. But I've read your research summaries. Your scholarship essays. You're not just smart, Elena. You're determined. And I want to help."
"Help how?"
"I'll cover everything. Tuition. Application fees. Flights. Living costs until you get a job or assistantship."
Elena's fingers clenched the edges of her mug.
"Why?"
"Because you meant something to her. And because… I think you're someone who deserves a chance."
She stared at him. Hard.
"We've spoken twice. You don't know me."
"That's true," he said calmly. "But I've seen the way you looked after her. I know the silence you carry. I don't want anything from you, Elena. There are no strings. No expectations. I'm offering a door. You choose whether or not to walk through it."
Later that night, Elena sat on Maya's balcony, the envelope unopened in her lap.
She hadn't told anyone. Not even Maya.
Daniel's offer felt… dangerous. Not because of what it was, but because it was too easy. Too clean. She had known only struggle since she was sixteen. What did it mean if someone just gave her something?
She wasn't afraid of Daniel.
She was afraid of what people would think.
Of what it meant to say yes to a man who barely knew her.
Of becoming dependent again.
But she was also afraid of staying here. Working in a job that drained her. Living a life that felt like borrowed breath.
Could she afford to be suspicious of grace?