I glanced at her coldly. "It's fine. If it's gone, it's gone."
Naomi's red lips curved upward, and she walked in with a smile.
"Constance, do you know why Leonard stood you up at City Hall?"
Leonard and I had set a date six months ago. It fell three days after Naomi came back.
That day, he was late. By the time he showed up, everyone at City Hall had already left.
He caught my hands, already talking. "Cece, I swear it wasn't on purpose. Someone rear-ended me on the way over."
"My phone broke too..."
He fished the shattered phone out of his pocket, looking pitiful, proving it really had been an accident.
I believed him.
"That day was the anniversary of our first time. He took me back to where it happened."
"Want to know where?"
"His bedroom. I was eighteen..."
Naomi leaned in close. The red marks below the neckline of her pajamas were impossible to miss.
So this was what Leonard meant by *nothing going on with Naomi.*
No wonder he'd never brought up the marriage license again after she came back.
The only time he mentioned anything related was this premarital exam.
And the day he brought it up was our eighth anniversary.
"Constance, let's go do a premarital check-up."
"Naomi said she'd handle booking us in."
Our eighth anniversary, and that was what he wanted to talk about. A medical exam.
Leonard and I had the worst fight we'd ever had.
"Leonard, if you don't want to marry me, just say so."
"Stop dragging this out."
"You are not the only option I have!"
That wasn't anger talking.
In the six months since Naomi came back, Leonard had put her first in everything.
Dinners out, driving her to and from work. Every single time, she was the reason we fought.
But we'd never actually settle anything—just patch it over in some foggy, exhausted truce, and then it would be Naomi again, and we'd be right back where we started. Every fight, he'd dangle calling off the wedding just to twist the knife, and somewhere in all those loops I'd used up every last scrap of hope I had.
But people are like that. You don't turn back until you've hit the wall.
I couldn't bring myself to let go of eight years with Leonard.
So I agreed to the exam. And that exam was where they found the breast cancer.
"Constance, be honest—a woman with no breasts, what's even left that makes her a woman?"
Naomi's voice cut through my thoughts.
She was covering her mouth, laughing, her eyes bright with satisfaction.
"If I were you, I wouldn't even want to be alive... Leonard even said—"
My nails dug into my palms. "Get out!"
I didn't want to hear another word from her.
After I shoved her out and shut the door, I slid down against it until I hit the floor.
Something helpless and raw crept through my chest like vines, climbing my throat, tightening until I couldn't pull in air.
Eight years. Eight years I'd thrown away on nothing.
Maybe it was the grief. That night, a fever hit hard.
I held an ice pack against my forehead, shifted it to my neck, my arms—none of it made a difference.
I had no choice. I knocked on Leonard's door.
"I think I have a fever..."
Before I could finish, I collapsed into him.
Leonard fumbled for his phone—hands shaking, already dialing for an ambulance—but Naomi grabbed his arm.
"Don't!"
"She goes to the hospital, they'll hook her up to an IV. The second they pump medication into her, the surgery the day after tomorrow is finished!"
Leonard stood there, not moving. "Then what do I do? I can't just stand here and watch her burn up!"
Naomi took a deep breath. "Put her in the bathtub. A night of soaking and the fever will break."
I fought to stay conscious, my fingers twisting into his shirt.
"Leonard... take me... to the hospital..."
