Chapter 2 Two

ISABELLA 'S POV

2 WEEKS AGO

"How long... how long do I have?" I found myself asking. Never in my life have I ever thought I would ask this question. I have always been healthy and have always done everything I was told to do. What this man was telling me had to be a mistake.

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Unfortunately, ALS is a rapidly progressing disease for many. The average survival time is around 2–5 years, but this can vary significantly. In your specific case, given the severity of your symptoms, I estimate you may have approximately one year."

My emotions clashed, they danced across my mind like a tornado storming through me. How could I have a year left? What did I do wrong ? Who have I offended? I don't deserve this. I have had so many bad luck in my life, but not this. I do not want to die. Not when I haven't found my mother.

"A year? That's all I get?" I yelled, my voice louder than i had expected it to be.

The doctor spoke too quickly. He attempted to calm me down. "I know this is devastating news. There's no cure for ALS, but there are treatments available to help manage symptoms and improve quality of life. We can discuss options like medications to slow the progression, physical and occupational therapy, speech therapy, and support for respiratory issues."

"Of course, there had to be a way - medicine has gone further than that. I could be healed. What about experimental treatments? Clinical trials?" I asked.

"We can explore those options as well. I can refer you to specialists and clinical trials that may be relevant to your specific situation."

The doctor spoke too calmly for my liking. He was too composed of what was going on in my life. How could he not react the way I was reacting? This is my life ending, and he still managed to speak calmly and eloquently. Perhaps this was not his first time delivering news like this one. He would have told a number of people they just had a year to live like it was a normal conversation. He was a doctor after all. That was his job.

My mind spun as heat sat on my neck, my fingers trembled as i steadied myself on the chair for the umpteenth time.

"I... I need to process this. What happens now?"

"We'll schedule a follow-up appointment soon to discuss your treatment options in more detail. I'll also connect you with resources like support groups and social workers who can offer emotional and practical support....." He trailed off and paused expecting a response. I only gave him a blank stare.

"I understand this is overwhelming. Please don't hesitate to reach out to me or my team with any questions or concerns you may have," he continued to say. The words swirled around my head without me bothering to process the remnant of what he had to say. I only know one thing at the moment: I won't be coming to the hospital again. I wouldn't spend the rest of my life being proven and poked by needles.

I smiled tightly. "That's okay." I wouldn't be needing anything thanks for your service.

The doctor gasped, shocked at my response. "Isabella, please think about this. I know it is overwhelming, but considering those who love and care about you, it doesn't have to be this way."

"No one cares about me," I whispered, storming out of the office before he said another word.

The road stretched before me, dark and endless, my diagnosis sat like a loud silence with me in the car. I gripped the steering wheel tightly. I shouldn't be driving like this, not when my mind was this tangled. But the thought of being alone in my room haunted me. I let the tears flow freely as I pulled over to the nearest lot I found.

A year, that's what the doctor had said, or maybe less who knows. The words hammered in my head like a carpenter's nail. I sobbed loudly, reaching for the radio, flicking it, hoping it would distract me and overshadow my loud sobs that people could hear from outside. I heaved. I had no idea what to do with the rest of my life. I might as well just enjoy the peace that comes with it. My past 25 years weren't worth fighting for anyway. Images of Tina and Camilla flashed before my eyes and for a moment I wished I could pay them back for what they did. I didn't know how but I would.

With a frustrated sigh, I let out a breath and pushed the door open, breathing in the cold air. Soft jazz music filled the air and seeped from inside and I welcomed the calmness it gave me.

The bar is dimly lit, dim enough to see people's facial features but also dark enough to not recognize the people there the following day. Just the way I like it, I am not in any mood for random conversations with strangers or anyone who recognizes me.

I ordered a whiskey from the bartender. As I sipped it, I didn't flinch at the burning sensation down my throat; rather, I welcomed it like an unknowing pleasure. My diagnosis swirled around my head like a hummingbird and I heaved a sigh, placing the tumbler on the counter top with a loud thud.

"Rough day?" A deep thick voice a few seats away from me on my right asked.

I couldn't make out his face as he stood up and walked towards me, only that he smelled heavenly, and his voice felt like a balm to my wounded soul. I was getting drunk, but not drunk enough to not be able to start a conversation. "You don't look like the type to drink alone."

"There's always a first time, I am getting married soon," he replied curtly, like that had to be the saddest thing in the world.

"And is that supposed to be a bad thing?" I asked.

"Not when I cannot choose the woman I want to marry," he sighed.

I instantly understood him. A small part of me empathized with him and wanted to share his burden, a life where you had no choice. That is what both of us had in common.

"At least you have a future," I said, laughing.

"You don't?" he asked, laughing even though he didn't completely understand the joke.

"Maybe less than a year," I replied curtly.

"What does that even mean? Are you talking in parables?"

I laughed. "You know you could grow up to love this woman of yours. Marriage doesn't always have to be about love at first sight. You could always learn to love this woman." I chipped.

"I like how innocently you think."

My chest warmed and butterflies tugged at my belly . He reached out my hands, caressing my fingers as we talked. Just like that, I met a stranger who I almost shared half of my life with. I didn't recognize his face, only his voice and his scent, and we clicked like we had met before.

"Do you want to go anywhere?" I asked drunkenly.

"Anywhere you want to go."

He scooped me up in bridal style and made his way towards my car, setting me down in the backseat. As he set me down, light flashed, and I caught a glimpse of his face in the dark. His hazel orbs stared at me as I drew him closer, placing my lips on his. His mouth captured mine nibbling on my lower lips carefully, but I wanted more, so I pulled him closer, allowing my tongue in his. Our tongues danced around each other slowly.

He tasted like sweets and whiskey. He pulled his tongue out and tugged on my lower lip, continuously nibbling it. He proceeded to move towards my neck and placed his mouth on it, making continuous circles on it with his tongue.

His lips traced my neckline down my cleavage with kisses and I heaved heavily. My breath became ragged.

He pulled back, whispering, "Do you want to continue this elsewhere?"