Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Outside the OR, the doctor's voice was heavy with regret:
"You can go in and see her now. Say your goodbyes."
Rachel was shaking so violently she could barely stand. A nurse had to support her as she stumbled into the room.
She grabbed Skylar's limp hand with both of hers, her throat completely seized up.
When she finally found her voice, it came out raw and shattered:
"Skylar fucking Madden, you've survived five years of this hell. FIVE YEARS! How does seeing Timothy once put you in the ground?"
"So what if he's getting married? You told me you were over him! You swore you'd moved on!"
Her voice cracked as desperation poured out: "You can't leave me like this! If you die on me, I swear to God I'll make your afterlife miserable. I won't burn money for you down there—you'll be broke forever. I won't even get you a headstone. You'll be some pathetic wandering ghost..."
Suddenly, the heart monitor beeped. The flatline showed the faintest tremor.
Rachel sobbed with desperate relief: "Doctor! She can hear me! She's still here!"
I was so exhausted, drifting through some dark dreamscape filled with shadows and an endless bridge stretching into nothing.
But Rachel's voice—her broken, desperate crying—cut through everything.
Her threats brought me back from whatever edge I'd been on. I didn't want to be a wandering ghost...
The next morning, I woke up to voices outside my room.
Rachel sounded completely defeated: "End-stage leukemia. The cancer's everywhere now. There's nothing more they can do."
After a long pause, Timothy's voice—rougher than I'd ever heard it:
"When was she diagnosed?"
My heart stopped. Timothy was here? How did he find out?
Rachel answered quietly: "2020."
Timothy's voice cracked: "Right before she left me."
Silence. Then: "What about her parents? Do they even know she's dying?"
When Rachel stayed silent, he pressed on, his voice getting more bitter: "So this is what you wanted to tell me yesterday? That she's dying? That she broke up with me because she didn't want to drag me down?"
"She just fucking disappeared without a word, and now I'm supposed to forgive her because she's sick?"
"You told me this right before my wedding. What did you think would happen? That I'd abandon Katherine and come running back?"
Even through my medication haze, each word felt like a physical blow.
This was exactly why I'd never wanted him to know. I'd made the choice to leave five years ago—to let him hate me rather than watch him destroy his future for a dying girl.
Now he was about to start his new life. He shouldn't have to give that up.
My chest felt like it was caving in from the inside.
The exhaustion pulled me under again before I could hear how it ended.
When I woke up, it was past eleven PM.
A nurse was replacing my IV bags—just morphine and saline now. Comfort care. They'd given up trying to save me.
After she left, Mrs. Farrell walked in without knocking.
She dropped an airline ticket and credit card on my bed like she was disposing of garbage.
"Leave. Take the money and get out of New York tonight. Katherine loves Timothy, and I won't let you ruin that for her."
The cruelty in her voice hit me like a sledgehammer.
I could barely breathe. Every word was a struggle: "I can't... travel anymore... I'm too sick..."
Mrs. Farrell looked at my skeletal, gray face and her expression got even colder: "Then die somewhere else. Just not here."
"Every time I see your face, I think about how much Katherine suffered while you lived like a princess."
My hands shook as I whispered: "What about me? What did I ever do wrong?"
Her answer was like a knife to the heart: "You were born to the wrong mother."
Rachel walked back in with a water pitcher just in time to hear that.
She slammed it down so hard water splashed everywhere and got right in Mrs. Farrell's face: "She called you MOTHER for twenty-two years! Are you insane?"
"Look at her! She's literally dying and you're still trying to torture her?"
Rachel's voice turned into a roar: "None of this was her choice! She was a fucking BABY!"
"GET OUT! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!"
I watched Mrs. Farrell's retreating figure, and twenty-two years of memories crashed through my mind—following that silhouette as I learned to walk, watching her wipe away secret tears on my first day of kindergarten, seeing her sneak presents into my room...
Every moment we'd shared felt like it was shattering.
Against my better judgment, I called out: "Mom..."
I was hoping—praying—she'd turn around and touch my face like she used to, say something to let me know those years had meant something.
She kept walking.
Twenty-two years of love died in that moment.
Blood erupted from my throat, soaking the white sheets. The sterile hospital smell was overwhelmed by the metallic scent of death.
Rachel was screaming through her tears: "DOCTOR! SOMEBODY HELP HER!"
But I grabbed her hand with what little strength I had left: "Rachel... no more. I'm done fighting. Just... let me go with some dignity."
Out in the hallway, harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows on Timothy's exhausted face as he sat in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs.
He looked absolutely shattered.
He stood up and walked toward the exit, away from my room, away from me.