The night before surgery, Dr. Nathanael Howard, her surgeon, came by to review the plan and answer her questions. He reminded her when to stop eating and drinking, then pulled a chair up beside the bed.

“The scans suggest we can remove the tumor,” he said. “It’s a major operation, but we have a clear plan.”

“And afterward? More chemo?”

“We’ll know more once we have the final pathology results. I can’t promise you won’t need further treatment.”

She appreciated the honest answer. After three years of treatment, a period of remission, and then the recurrence, she was tired of promises no one could keep.

If this operation failed, she wanted to talk about comfort and quality of life rather than automatically begin another exhausting treatment. She had already told her care team that. For tonight, though, she would let herself hope.

Dr. Howard glanced at the empty visitor’s chair. “Is someone coming to be with you tomorrow?”

With the fear of death dulled, even the most painful emotions were easier to face. Florence answered calmly, “We broke up.” She’d texted Ryatt a breakup message the moment she left the bridal shop. He was still on the plane and hadn’t seen it yet. She imagined that when he finally did, he’d be relieved—finally free of her.

Dr. Howard, however, looked genuinely surprised. Then he brought up someone she hadn’t expected. “Would you like me to ask Lucian Bennett to stop by? He mentioned that you went to school together.”

The question caught Florence off guard. Lucian had been a school friend of hers and Ryatt’s and now worked in the same hospital. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and her memories of him were hazy. Her only current impression was that he was one of the brightest young neurosurgeons on staff. She couldn’t fathom why her relationship status would matter to him.

Realizing he’d stumbled into awkward territory, Dr. Howard quickly backpedaled. “Only if you’d like him to. He mentioned the other day that he was planning to attend your wedding.”

Ah. So that was it. “You can ask him,” she said. “Tell him I’m sorry there won’t be a wedding.”

With that brief interlude over, Florence turned in early to brace herself for the surgery the next day. Surprisingly, she had a pleasant dream. In it, she was back in her hometown—a quiet little town where she had her own cozy garden. She lived a simple, fulfilling life, wrapped in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the scent of spiced honey cake cooling on her kitchen counter.

It was a bright, sunny day. Sunlight streamed through the glass, spilling warmth down the hallway. Only a couple of hours left until the surgery. With her nurse’s permission, Florence sat on a bench in a sunlit lounge on the surgical floor, eyes closed, letting the warmth settle over her face. When she opened them again, she realized she wasn't alone.

"Lucian?" she said, startled.

He looked worse for wear than Florence—and she was the patient. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his slightly tousled hair only added to the exhausted look. He looked as if he’d been awake all night.

"Sorry—I just got out of surgery and didn't have time to clean up," Lucian said. "Dr. Howard said you wouldn’t mind a visitor. I wanted to see you before you went in."

“Would you like some company?” he asked.

Florence hesitated, then nodded. Lucian settled at the far end of the bench, giving her space. Time passed in a quiet, easy silence. Oddly enough, Florence felt calm. At peace.

After a while, her phone pinged. A message from Milani Fisher—the girl who'd been tangled up with Ryatt Murphy for the past several months. Two photos came through: one of Ryatt asleep, covered in obvious lipstick marks; the other of rumpled sheets, a dried bloodstain stark against the white fabric. The second photo was clearly meant to prove Milani had kept her promise. Florence had no interest in deciding whether it proved anything at all. They’d barely landed, and Milani was already trying to make sure Florence knew.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. But it no longer made her want Ryatt back.

Just as she was about to turn off her phone, another message came through—a voice note from Milani, dripping with spite: "Hope you don't survive the surgery. Ryatt and I will be just fine." It was meant to cut her, but it landed like a childish playground taunt. Replying would only give Milani exactly what she wanted, so Florence just blocked her.

When she looked up, Lucian was watching her, his brow furrowed with concern. "Who was that?" he asked.

Florence said, "Someone Ryatt insists is too innocent to know any better."

She expected Lucian to offer some comforting words—after all, they were old classmates, and she was being treated unfairly. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, wrapped up tight like it mattered. He unfolded the cloth carefully. Inside lay a small silver pendant on a chain, shaped like a leaf.

"Don’t let her be the last voice you hear before you go in," he said quietly. "Your team is ready. And I’ll be here when you wake up."

He offered her the pendant. "Something to hold on to until they come for you."

For a heartbeat, Florence couldn't speak. The air between them seemed to thicken. Finally, she took the pendant and managed a thank-you, a beat too late. She held it until the nurse came to take her to the operating room, then asked Lucian to keep it safe during the operation.

Later, she would recall that moment often—always with that same sense of wonder.