𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞.
Vivian Rae has only a year to live. Instead of spending his remaining time with the woman he swore to love until his last breath, he makes an unexpected request: he asks his doctor to be his f...
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"All the best," she whispered, her lips brushing against mine in a quick kiss. I could feel the warmth of her breath, the softness of her touch, but I had to pull away, had to get my head in the game.
I walked to the starting line, the roar of the crowd growing louder with every step. They were hooting, shouting, a chaotic mix of noise that could throw anyone off.
But not me. Years of practice had honed my focus into something unbreakable. Nothing mattered except the race. Nothing, except the thought of winning—for Mum, for Dada, and for Vani.
The countdown began.
My hands gripped the handlebars, numb with adrenaline. I felt that familiar sting in my nose, and I knew it was starting again—nosebleed, my biggest enemy.
It’s been with me since I was five, like a curse, but there was no time to think about that. My vision narrowed, every nerve in my body straining toward the goal. I had to win.
Mid-lap, I was in third place, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
"Come on, I can do this. For Mum, for Dada, and for Vani."
I pushed harder, the engine roaring beneath me as I accelerated, passing one rider after another. The world blurred around me, but my focus never wavered.
First place!
The finish line was just ahead. I crossed it, the yellow stripe a blur beneath my wheels. I slowed down, heart racing, and finally stopped with a screech.
"I did it!" I shouted, ripping off my helmet. The crowd swarmed around me, cheering, clapping, but I couldn’t hear any of it. My mind was blank, just a rush of pure, overwhelming happiness. I have done it. I have won.
But then, through the crowd, I saw Vani. She was smiling, but there was something in her eyes—something that stopped my heart cold. Sadness.
I pushed through the crowd, not understanding. "What’s wrong?" I grabbed her cheeks, forcing her to look at me.
"Your mum—" she began, her voice breaking.And in that moment, I knew. Even though I’d won the race, I’d lost something far more precious.
We rushed to the hospital, City Centre. I was still in my racing gear, and everyone stared at me like I was some kind of thug or a wild animal on display. But I didn’t care. My only thought was of her.
"Viv-ian," came a weak voice. It was Dada. He looked like he was about to break down, something I’d never seen before. My dad, always so strong, was crumbling.
"Dada," I said, and he pulled me into a hug, holding on as if he’d fall apart if he let go.
My heart sank, a lead weight in my chest. Two hours crawled by before a doctor finally came out of the operating room. She was calm, too calm, and my gut twisted. I could feel the ground slipping from under me. She looked at Dada, then at me.
"We tried the surgery, but it—" she hesitated, her voice low.
"Please, just say it," I managed, though my voice trembled. I wasn’t crying, but my heart was in pieces.
"I’m sorry. It was too late."
A gasp escaped my lips, the kind that felt like it was being ripped from my soul. Dada collapsed, a broken man. Vani stood a little way off, her eyes glistening with tears.
I wanted to cry, to scream, but I couldn’t. I had to be strong. For Dada. For Vani. For what was left behind.
The next day, they called me into the doctor’s office. The hospital felt cold, sterile, like the place where bad news was born. I couldn’t believe this was real. Mum, so young, so beautiful, was gone. Just like that. She’d left me and Dada behind.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Rae?" The doctor from before called out, pulling me from my thoughts. Her name tag read
"AMARA DUA."
"Yeah?" I replied, my voice- rough.
"Could you please follow me?" She led me into her office, signaling for me to sit. I didn’t want to, but I did anyway, bracing myself for more bad news.
"Mr. Rae," she began, her tone serious.
"It’s Vivian," I corrected, not wanting to feel so distant from my own reality.
"Vivian," she nodded, "your mother had a rare malignant condition—cardiac sarcoma. Cancer."
"Cancer?" I repeated, the word heavy, suffocating. How could this happen? How did we not know?
"In the heart," Amara continued."Mum died of cancer?" My voice cracked. It didn’t make sense. How could we have missed something like this?
"No," she said softly, "the surgery was nearly complete, but she died of blood loss. We tried to reach you—"
"So it’s my fault," I cut in, the guilt crushing me. I was at that goddamn race, while my mum was dying.
"No," Amara tried to reassure me, but her words were lost on me.
I couldn’t shake the thought that if I’d just answered the call, if I’d been there instead of chasing some stupid dream, she might still be alive.
I killed my mother.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Nothing much to say, stay tuned and drop in your thoughts.
