How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Fleming Mercer noticed someone watching him as he walked past. When he glanced up and saw Esmeralda, he stopped in his tracks.

His expression barely flickered; if anything, he looked cold, almost severe.

"What are you doing here?"

Esmeralda could tell, even from the way he spoke, that there wasn't much genuine concern behind the question. Even though she was in the hospital because she'd been ill, his care was always perfunctory-nothing more than required by courtesy.

She felt a little tense facing Fleming, pressing her lips together before she replied, "My friend just had surgery."

"As long as you're alright," he said, giving a brief nod and getting ready to leave. But as he turned, Esmeralda caught sight of something draped over his arm-a pale gray knit cardigan, unmistakably feminine.

She stared at it for a moment before asking, "Lucy's sick again?"

That "again" made Fleming frown, displeased, but he didn't argue. "Yeah," he answered flatly.

He clearly had no intention of explaining further.

A strange awkwardness settled between them, but then, that was always how it was with Fleming. They'd known each other for more than a decade. Ever since she could remember, it had always been understood that she and Fleming were promised to each other-the Mercers from Eldermere and the Mercers from Brightshore, two old families with close ties and the same last name. The arrangement was natural, even expected.

raised on that idea. It was a certainty in her life, something she never questioned: one day, she would become Fleming's wife. Over the years, that certainty bred a subtle

and even when he did, he rarely paid her much attention. She'd learned to amuse herself, carrying on with a carefree bravado, but deep down, she harbored feelings for a man who

date was

this could be a

at the end of the year?" Her fingers fidgeted at her earlobe, her voice

actually stopped and looked at her for

it another time. I've got something urgent right

reply, he turned and strode away, never once meeting her hopeful

Esmeralda stood there, stunned.

knew what could make

only ever one

His stepsister, Lucy.

always

and protective of her. There were times when Esmeralda

close-close enough to make her question

her doubts, Fleming's response had been even colder: "Don't say things like that again. It's not good for

angry, that she'd been genuinely