Chapter 3

It felt like someone had ripped a hole in my chest, and the cold wind was blowing right through it.

My eyes were red as I asked, "Didn't you see my parents' graves right next to it? You swore in front of them back then."

Now he wanted to bury the man who was his first love Emily's late husband, right next to my parents.

Every time he came to visit, it would be like my parents had to witness him standing by another woman's side.

Andrew's voice was heavy. "Her husband's been gone for three years. This is the only thing she's ever asked for. I don't want her to be sad."

Those words were like an ice-cold knife, stabbing straight into my heart.

"But I was the one who reserved this plot first! My parents are right next to it!" My voice trembled. "Andrew, you left me so suddenly for Emily, and now you're even taking my burial plot for her?"

His expression turned cold, confusion flickering in his eyes. "You're still alive. Why would you buy a grave? Is it just because your parents are buried beside it?"

I was speechless, bitterness flooding my chest.

I couldn't tell him I didn't have much time left.

"Everyone dies. I want to be buried with my family," I said through gritted teeth. "I reserved this plot first, and I won't give it up, no matter what."

I turned to leave, but his words hit me like a sledgehammer. "He was buried last night."

My back went rigid, and a cold chill swept over me.

When I looked back at him, he seemed so unfamiliar it was almost frightening.

Andrew let out a sigh, as if weighing his words. "When Jack Foster died, I divorced you so I could go abroad, handle everything, and take care of Emily and her son.

"I don't want you to have any misunderstandings about her. The dead deserve respect so this plot is more fitting for her husband."

So ridiculous that I laughed, almost hysterically, tears streaming down my face.

He hadn't gone on that escort mission back then. Instead, he'd gone to take care of Emily and her son.

Turns out, our marriage was always a joke.

When Emily got married, he settled for me. As soon as she lost her husband, he divorced me and became her pillar.

I was just the backup, the stand-in but never his first choice.

That realization was like a hand squeezing my heart, making it hard to breathe. It hurt more than the bone marrow pain I felt during chemo.

A rush of hot, metallic blood filled my nose, and drops splattered onto the stone slabs. So stark and vivid.

My vision went black, and my legs gave out as I collapsed to the ground.

Andrew rushed over and caught me before I hit the ground. "What happened?"

His concern was so genuine, but I shoved him away like he'd burned me, gritting out, "I'm fine."

"I'm a military doctor. Let me check you," he said, frowning as he reached for me.

I ignored him, stumbling down the hill and heading straight for the hospital.

When my attending physician, Dr. Lucia Sterling, saw me, she was visibly startled and immediately ordered a full set of tests.

The next day, when I got the results, Dr. Lucia Sterling's eyes were red as she said, "Claire, your body's reached its limit."

I tried to sound casual. "How much time do I really have left? We've been classmates for years. Give it to me straight."

"One day you might just fall asleep and not wake up," her voice trembling. "It's time to get your affairs in order."

I'd already laid my parents to rest, and now even my own burial plot had been taken from me. What's left for me to arrange after I'm gone?

My gaze swept over the donation consent form on her desk, and I remembered the lab coat I'd worn for six years as a doctor. Suddenly, an idea sparked in my mind.

I picked up the consent form and pushed it toward her. "I'll sign this. I want to donate my body and all my pathology samples to the coastal defense sample bank."