Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
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The lie burned my throat worse than the cancer ever had.
I just... I couldn't stand the thought of him mourning me when I was gone.
Timothy went completely silent, and I watched something shatter in his eyes.
He'd spent five fucking years rebuilding himself. For so long, he'd actually believed he was over Skylar Madden.
But the moment he found out she was dying, every wall he'd built came crashing down.
He sat there in crushing silence, his warm hand wrapped gently around my freezing IV line.
That's when Dr. Stewart walked in.
Jayden Stewart—my childhood neighbor, my oldest friend, and the guy who'd been pathetically in love with me since we were kids.
He'd always hated Timothy for that reason.
When Timothy and I first got together, Jayden challenged him to one-on-one basketball nineteen different times. Lost every single game but kept coming back for more punishment.
Timothy watched my face completely transform when I saw Jayden.
"Jayden! Our anniversary's coming up next week—please tell me you didn't forget my present?"
Jayden froze for just a split second, then stepped closer and touched my cheek tenderly: "Are you kidding? I already ordered from that Italian place you're obsessed with. Should be here any minute."
Timothy's face turned to stone. He stood there for what felt like forever, then quietly backed out of the room like he was trying not to wake someone.
The second the door closed, I bit down on my wrist so hard I tasted blood, trying to keep from screaming as tears poured down my face.
Jayden sat on the edge of my bed and handed me tissues.
"You know you're just fucking yourself over, right? Both of you."
My voice came out completely wrecked: "I can't..."
"Can't be selfish enough to put him through losing someone again."
Five years ago when I ran away, I made myself a promise.
Even if Timothy spent the rest of his life hating me, even if we never spoke again, I wouldn't be the reason he suffered.
So these past five years—when I was too broke for proper treatment and spent nights curled up in agony in some shitty studio apartment; when chemo made my hair fall out in chunks and I lay on operating tables listening to doctors give up on me; when they finally told me I was dying and I had to fucking shop for my own funeral—I kept Timothy's number in my phone but never, ever called.
God knows I wanted to. I came so close to breaking a thousand times.
I wanted to tell him every cruel word I'd said during our breakup was a lie.
That he was incredible and deserved someone who could give him forever.
I wanted to explain that I wasn't leaving because I didn't love him—I was leaving because I loved him too much to drag him down with me.
I was drowning in regret. Why was my life so fucking short? Why couldn't I have just been normal, just been healthy, just been able to love him without destroying him?
But then I'd remember everything Timothy had already lost.
His dad died when he was twelve—killed in the line of duty.
His mom couldn't handle it and drowned herself when Timothy was fourteen.
At eighteen, his college acceptance letter arrived the same day his grandfather—the only family he had left—swallowed rat poison rather than burden Timothy with his cancer bills.
At the funeral home, Timothy prostrated himself in front of the casket until his forehead split open and bled all over the floor.
He knelt there while relatives swarmed around him:
"Timothy, your grandfather sacrificed himself so you could go to college. Don't let him down."
After everyone left, Timothy looked at me with the most broken expression I'd ever seen: "Skylar, if I'd been stronger, if I could've taken care of him... would he still be alive?"
So fucking tell me—what was I supposed to do five years ago?
My adoptive family had already thrown me out. We were both broke college kids barely scraping by.
Where the hell were we supposed to get money for cancer treatment that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars?
Was I supposed to let him destroy his future chasing a miracle that probably wouldn't come anyway?
I took a shuddering breath and didn't answer Jayden's question.
Some pain becomes so familiar it stops feeling like pain. I was done carrying regrets.
Blood suddenly erupted from my throat again, spraying across the white hospital sheets like some twisted Jackson Pollock painting.
Jayden lunged for the call button, his voice cracking: "Jesus, why won't it stop?"
I grabbed his wrist, forcing my voice to sound casual:
"Hey, Dr. Stewart, this is comfort care, remember? No more heroic measures."
"If I'm gonna die, I'd rather not spend my last days getting tortured by machines."
I just... I couldn't stand the thought of him mourning me when I was gone.
Timothy went completely silent, and I watched something shatter in his eyes.
He'd spent five fucking years rebuilding himself. For so long, he'd actually believed he was over Skylar Madden.
But the moment he found out she was dying, every wall he'd built came crashing down.
He sat there in crushing silence, his warm hand wrapped gently around my freezing IV line.
That's when Dr. Stewart walked in.
Jayden Stewart—my childhood neighbor, my oldest friend, and the guy who'd been pathetically in love with me since we were kids.
He'd always hated Timothy for that reason.
When Timothy and I first got together, Jayden challenged him to one-on-one basketball nineteen different times. Lost every single game but kept coming back for more punishment.
Timothy watched my face completely transform when I saw Jayden.
"Jayden! Our anniversary's coming up next week—please tell me you didn't forget my present?"
Jayden froze for just a split second, then stepped closer and touched my cheek tenderly: "Are you kidding? I already ordered from that Italian place you're obsessed with. Should be here any minute."
Timothy's face turned to stone. He stood there for what felt like forever, then quietly backed out of the room like he was trying not to wake someone.
The second the door closed, I bit down on my wrist so hard I tasted blood, trying to keep from screaming as tears poured down my face.
Jayden sat on the edge of my bed and handed me tissues.
"You know you're just fucking yourself over, right? Both of you."
My voice came out completely wrecked: "I can't..."
"Can't be selfish enough to put him through losing someone again."
Five years ago when I ran away, I made myself a promise.
Even if Timothy spent the rest of his life hating me, even if we never spoke again, I wouldn't be the reason he suffered.
So these past five years—when I was too broke for proper treatment and spent nights curled up in agony in some shitty studio apartment; when chemo made my hair fall out in chunks and I lay on operating tables listening to doctors give up on me; when they finally told me I was dying and I had to fucking shop for my own funeral—I kept Timothy's number in my phone but never, ever called.
God knows I wanted to. I came so close to breaking a thousand times.
I wanted to tell him every cruel word I'd said during our breakup was a lie.
That he was incredible and deserved someone who could give him forever.
I wanted to explain that I wasn't leaving because I didn't love him—I was leaving because I loved him too much to drag him down with me.
I was drowning in regret. Why was my life so fucking short? Why couldn't I have just been normal, just been healthy, just been able to love him without destroying him?
But then I'd remember everything Timothy had already lost.
His dad died when he was twelve—killed in the line of duty.
His mom couldn't handle it and drowned herself when Timothy was fourteen.
At eighteen, his college acceptance letter arrived the same day his grandfather—the only family he had left—swallowed rat poison rather than burden Timothy with his cancer bills.
At the funeral home, Timothy prostrated himself in front of the casket until his forehead split open and bled all over the floor.
He knelt there while relatives swarmed around him:
"Timothy, your grandfather sacrificed himself so you could go to college. Don't let him down."
After everyone left, Timothy looked at me with the most broken expression I'd ever seen: "Skylar, if I'd been stronger, if I could've taken care of him... would he still be alive?"
So fucking tell me—what was I supposed to do five years ago?
My adoptive family had already thrown me out. We were both broke college kids barely scraping by.
Where the hell were we supposed to get money for cancer treatment that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars?
Was I supposed to let him destroy his future chasing a miracle that probably wouldn't come anyway?
I took a shuddering breath and didn't answer Jayden's question.
Some pain becomes so familiar it stops feeling like pain. I was done carrying regrets.
Blood suddenly erupted from my throat again, spraying across the white hospital sheets like some twisted Jackson Pollock painting.
Jayden lunged for the call button, his voice cracking: "Jesus, why won't it stop?"
I grabbed his wrist, forcing my voice to sound casual:
"Hey, Dr. Stewart, this is comfort care, remember? No more heroic measures."
"If I'm gonna die, I'd rather not spend my last days getting tortured by machines."
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.