Dr. Ramirez found me later, his face etched with a sorrow that felt more genuine than anyone else's.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said, his voice low. "There' s nothing more conventional medicine can offer you now."
He hesitated. "There is... something else. An unreleased analgesic. Experimental. It will completely mask your symptoms. You'll appear healthy, full of energy, for exactly three days."
Three days.
"After that," he continued, his eyes full of pity, "it causes rapid organ failure. The end will be... painful, I won't lie."
He slid a small, unmarked vial across his desk. "This is off the record. For compassion."
Three days to look healthy, to feel normal, before everything shut down.
I took the vial. "Thank you," I managed.
A plan began to form, cold and sharp in my mind. Three days to orchestrate my farewell. My revenge.
The next morning, I took the first dose. Within an hour, the bone-deep ache vanished. The fatigue lifted. I felt... good. Dangerously good.
I called my lawyer, then Jessica.
"Jessica," I said, my voice bright, "I've been thinking. I want you to be secure. I'm signing over the bakery chain to you. All of it."
Silence. Then, a gasp. "Sarah! You don't have to!"
"I want to," I insisted. "My investments, my properties too. It' s the least I can do."
I heard my mother in the background. "Sarah! That's so generous! You' re finally being sensible, thinking of others."
Mark got on the line. "Honey, that' s... that' s wonderful. Jessica needs this. You' re being so selfless."
They didn't question it. They never did when it benefited Jessica.
I spent the morning with lawyers, signing papers. My life' s work, gone.
My head throbbed slightly, a distant drum. I ignored it.
Later, I thought about them. Mark. My parents. Jessica.
Would they ever understand what they'd done? When the truth came out.
I almost hoped they wouldn't. Let them live with their choices, unburdened by guilt.
No. That wasn' t true. I wanted them to know. I wanted them to feel it.
This was just the beginning.