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.

she never questioned: one day, she would become Fleming's wife. Over the years, that certainty bred a subtle connection, a flutter of nerves whenever she looked at him. Her infatuation seemed inevitable, and before she knew it, years had

ever returned to London, 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

their wedding date was approaching. Fleming had finally been transferred

thought, this could be a good

for our wedding at the end of the year?" Her fingers fidgeted at her earlobe, her voice full

looked at

time. I've

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

Esmeralda stood there, stunned.

knew what could make him

was only ever one

His stepsister, Lucy.

always been frail,

attentive and protective of her. There

a little too close-close enough to make her question

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

so stern, so angry, that she'd been genuinely frightened. After