He took in the scene— the open cabinet, papers scattered everywhere, the medical folder spread across the desk, the journal in my lap, tears streaming down my face.
Our eyes met through my blurry vision.
The act was over.
The illusion had shattered.
And there was no going back.
Time to face my brutal reality.
CHAPTER 16
Michael
I stoodon the balcony watching Vegas glowed against the desert night, neon bleeding into darkness like something beautiful trying too hard to stay alive. And all I could think about was how close I’d come to losing her.
When Pauline’s call came through that afternoon, I’d been going through emails I didn’t care about. Claudette had wanted to meet Pauline for lunch and shopping. I’d worried about letting her go without me—that familiar knot tightening behind my ribs. But she’d wanted normal, to feel like a regular person instead of someone being constantly monitored.
So I’d kissed her goodbye and told her to have fun and spent the next three hours checking my phone every five minutes, wearing a path between my desk and the window.
Then Pauline called—and the world narrowed to a single point.
I didn’t remember the drive to the hospital. One moment I was grabbing my keys, the next I was tearing through the ER doors demanding to know where my wife was. The fluorescent lights had seemed too bright, the antiseptic smell sharp enoughto make my eyes water—or maybe that had been something else entirely.
They’d taken her to a room in the back. I’d found her on a gurney, still unconscious, a gash on her temple bleeding through the gauze they’d pressed against it. So small against those white sheets. So still. Pauline stood in the corner, tears streaking down her face, looking at me like I might have the answers neither of us had.
The doctor had asked about her medical history and I’d called Dr. Rivera immediately. Listened to him explain Claudette’s condition to a stranger while I held her hand and watched her chest rise and fall and prayed she’d keep breathing. Each inhale felt like borrowed time. Each exhale felt like a promise I had no right to make.
After the scans came back, the neurologist that handled it had pulled me into the hallway. He had looked me in the eye and said the words I’d been dreading for weeks.
“The tumor has grown faster than expected. The pressure is causing the seizures. I’m sorry, Mr. Ashford. There’s nothing we can do.”
No hope. That’s what he’d meant. No treatment. No miracle waiting around the corner.
Just time running out faster than we’d thought.
Her parents had arrived sometime after that. I hadn’t seen them since the wedding, and I’d braced myself for anger. For accusations. For them to demand I bring their daughter home where they could take care of her properly.
Instead, her father had gripped my shoulder, his hand heavy with a grief too large for words. Her mother had looked at me with exhausted eyes—the kind of tired grief carves into a person, and asked if Claudette had been happy all these while.
The act that had made her daughter feel normal.
So we’d all kept lying to her—because the truth would break her faster than the tumor. We crafted the story to tell her she’d simply fainted, hit her head, nothing to worry about.
The fear in her eyes when she’d overheard my conversation with Jack had gutted me. She’d known something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what.
I’d brought her home, promising to tell the truth. I held her in my arms until she fell asleep. Stroked her hair and whispered that everything would be okay.
One more lie to add to the pile. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell her the complete truth, so I’d told her something less serious.
She’d finally drifted off around midnight, exhausted from the day and the medications they’d given her. I’d tried to sleep beside her but the fear, guilt and grief made my heart too heavy.
It consumed me. Suffocated me. Like drowning in air. Claudette was extraordinary and kind, she didn’t deserve the illness. For her life to be taken so young, there was so many years left that I wanted to spend with her. I wanted us to grow old together, wanted to see silver threaded through her dark hair, wanted to learn the map of laugh lines on her face. But my strong will couldn’t win against the tumor that was fighting to take her from me. From the fragile home we’d built here.
I’d bought this penthouse two years ago when Ashford Technologies expanded operations into Vegas. Smart investment in a growing market, somewhere to stay during business trips. I’d barely used it—maybe a dozen nights total in two years. Just walls and windows and expensive furniture that meant nothing.
Now it felt more like home than anywhere I’d ever lived. Because she was here. Because for a few perfect weeks, we’d built something real inside these walls. Her fragrance in the air. Hershoes by the door. The ghost of her laugh still echoing in the corners.
