Chapter 4

Alycia Lawson (POV)

I slammed the bedroom door shut, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "No, just... a little unwell," I called out, my voice muffled, a forced cough covering the tremor. "I'm going to turn in early."

I leaned against the door, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My shirt, where I had wiped my mouth, was stained with a crimson splatter. On the floor, scattered around my feet, were the tiny, devastating mementos of our shared history, each one screaming his betrayal. The sight filled me with a fresh wave of shame, of utter humiliation. He was about to leave me. And I was literally bleeding out, dying, and still trying to hide it.

A part of me, the old Alycia, the naive one, wanted him to come in. Wanted him to see. Wanted him to hold me and tell me it was all a mistake, that he still loved me. But the new Alycia, the one who was dying, the one who had just discovered the raw, brutal truth, knew better. What was the point? He was already gone.

I heard his footsteps retreat, the soft padding fading into the distance. The house grew silent again, a heavy, suffocating silence. I sagged against the door, feeling the icy grip of despair tighten around my heart.

I spent the rest of the night systematically packing, but not just clothes. I shredded old letters, deleted photos from my phone, wiped away every trace of myself that I could. It was an act of erasure, a desperate attempt to make my exit as clean and painless for them as possible. I left only a small, carefully prepared bag with my essentials.

The next morning, I drove myself to the small hospice clinic I' d secretly been visiting. Dr. Evans, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, met me at the reception.

"Alycia, you look terrible," she said, her voice gentle, but direct. "You know we can manage the pain, try to slow the progression. You're so young, honey. We can still try."

I shook my head, a weariness settling deep in my bones. "No, Dr. Evans. I've made my decision. I need to leave."

The money I had saved, meant for our future, for Kyle's dream business, for Carmelita's foster home, now had a different purpose. It would cover my final expenses, ensure a quiet departure, no burdens left behind. But the thought of the pain, the slow, agonizing decline, terrified me. I, the girl who had survived so much, was still a coward when it came to suffering.

I pulled out the brochure I'd researched online. "I've booked a flight to Oregon. For the... the procedure." My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

Dr. Evans' face crumpled. "Alycia... are you sure? There's no turning back from that."

"I'm sure," I whispered, my gaze fixed on a crack in the wall. This is the only brave thing I've ever done.

My phone buzzed. It was Kyle. I hesitated for a split second, then silenced it. I couldn't. Not now. I couldn't hear his voice, not when I was so close to making my final arrangements. His calls continued, intermittent, desperate. I ignored them all. For days, the phone lay silent, a monument to the widening gulf between us.

I remembered his voice, once so full of love, whispering promises into my hair. Forever, Alycia. Just you and me. I had wanted to believe him. I had wanted so badly to believe that my love, my quiet devotion, could be enough. Enough to keep him, to keep us tethered. But love, I was learning, was a battlefield, and I was losing. I didn't want to die in a warzone. I wanted to die in peace, believing, even if it was a lie, that I was loved.

Three days later, just as I was finalizing the last of my paperwork, preparing to leave for the airport, my phone rang again. It was Kyle. This time, a strange urgency in his tone compelled me to answer.

"Alycia! Thank God you picked up!" His voice was ragged, frantic. "It's Carmelita! She... she was attacked! I found her, she's hurt."

My blood ran cold. "What? Attacked? Where is she?" All thoughts of myself vanished. Carmelita. My sister. My fierce protector. Hurt.

"She's at the warehouse, the old one near the docks," he stammered, his voice choked with fear. "I'm on my way, but... but I need you. Please, Alycia. She needs you."

She needs you. The words cut through my heart, a painful echo. Not we need you. She needs you. He was calling me, not for himself, but for her. His true love. The one he was afraid to lose.

Still, there was no hesitation. Carmelita was hurt. My Carmelita. I didn't care about the betrayal, the pain, the cancer. I only cared about her. I ripped the IV from my arm, ignoring the sharp sting, the faint trickle of blood. I grabbed my bag, throwing a hasty apology to Dr. Evans, who stood there, stunned.

I drove like a madwoman, the old car groaning in protest. The city lights blurred into streaks of color. I ignored the blaring horns, the flashing lights in my rearview mirror. My foot pressed harder on the accelerator, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear for Carmelita and a strange, desperate urgency to reach her. Please, let her be okay. Please, let her be okay.

A police cruiser, lights flashing, suddenly cut me off. The officer peered at me through the window. "Ma'am, you're speeding! And the road ahead is closed. Major accident, black ice. You'll have to take the long way around."

My heart sank. The long way. Precious minutes, slipping away like sand through my fingers. I slammed the steering wheel in frustration, then forced myself to turn, taking the detour, each turn an agonizing delay.

When I finally arrived, the scene was chaotic. An ambulance was already there, its sirens wailing, its lights flashing red and blue against the stark white of the freshly fallen snow. Carmelita was huddled on the ground, her clothes torn, her face streaked with dirt and tears. A figure lay unconscious nearby, presumably her attacker.

Kyle was already there, his arm wrapped tightly around Carmelita, shielding her. His own face was bruised, a cut bleeding above his eyebrow. He had fought for her. He had protected her. He was her hero.

He looked up as I approached, his eyes blazing with a raw, furious anger. He pulled Carmelita closer, his body language a fierce, protective wall.

My legs felt suddenly weak, my vision swimming. I reached out a hand, a desperate, maternal instinct to comfort the only sister I had ever known. "Carmelita, honey, are you-"

"Don't touch her!" Kyle's voice was a snarl, cutting through the frosty air. He pushed me back, his strength surprising in its intensity. "You're late! Where were you? She needed you, Alycia! Why are you always so damn selfish?"

The words hit me like physical blows, each one a sharp, agonizing stab. Selfish. Me? The girl who had spent her entire life trying to be invisible, trying not to be a burden? The girl who was dying, quietly, so as not to disrupt their happiness?

Carmelita stirred in his arms, her eyes fluttering open. She saw me, then Kyle, then the fury in his eyes. "Kyle, no..." she whispered, her voice hoarse, a faint protest. She tried to sit up, a flicker of something-guilt, perhaps, or a desperate attempt to protect me-crossing her face. "It's not her fault..."

But Kyle didn't hear her. He was consumed by his rage, by his fear for Carmelita. "She could have been seriously hurt! Where were you? What could possibly be more important than your best friend being attacked?"

My throat was tight, choked with unshed tears. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream the truth, to show him the blood, the pain, the terminal diagnosis. But the words wouldn't come. They were trapped, suffocated by the cold, bitter reality of his accusation. He didn't see me. He didn't care.

"I just..." I choked, trying to find my voice, trying to explain.

Kyle cut me off, his voice laced with venom. "I don't even know who you are anymore, Alycia. Maybe we need a break. A long break. You need to figure yourself out. You need to stop being so... so absent."

Absent. The word echoed in my ears, a cruel twist of fate. I was absent because I was dying. I was absent because I was trying to make my departure easier for them.

My head swam. My chest constricted, a familiar burning spreading through my lungs. I tried to speak, to explain, to defend myself. But all that came out was a violent, hacking cough. A gush of warm liquid filled my mouth. I stumbled back, my hand flying to my lips.

When I pulled it away, it was covered in blood. Bright, crimson streaks against the pristine white snow. I quickly tried to hide it, to wipe it away, but it was too late. The blood was undeniable, stark against the white.

Kyle didn't even notice. His gaze was still fixed on Carmelita, his arms still wrapped protectively around her. He gently lifted her, carrying her towards his car. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

He placed her in the passenger seat, then got into the driver' s side. He started the engine, pulling away without a backward glance. He left me standing there, alone, bleeding, in the middle of a deserted road, under the cold, indifferent glare of the streetlights.

Absent. He was right. I was already gone.

I wiped the blood from my mouth, the metallic taste strong on my tongue. My body ached, my head pounded, but my mind was clear. This was it. The final push. I turned, my steps heavy, and walked towards my car. There was nothing left for me here.

I drove straight to the airport, the silence of the car a welcome relief after the emotional storm. I made it to my flight just in time, the last passenger to board. As the plane taxied down the runway, the city lights blurred into a beautiful, heartbreaking tapestry. I thought of Kyle, of Carmelita, of the life we had shared, the future we wouldn't.

I remembered my twenty-fifth birthday wish, from just hours ago: I wish them happiness. I wish them a life together, free from guilt, free from the burden of me. And I wish for a peaceful end.

My wish had been granted. Or, at least, it was about to be. I pulled out my phone, typed a quick message, addressed to both of them.

I love you both. Always. Find your happiness. I'll be okay.

I hit send, then powered off my phone, severing the last connection to a life that had become too painful to bear. No goodbyes. No explanations. Just a quiet, final surrender. My journey was almost over.