Chapter 1 Chemotherapy

• ♥Cece's POV♥
• Hospitals always smell like despair. That sharp antiseptic scent clings to the walls, the floors, and, worst of all, the people. It's as if the building itself is mocking you for daring to hope.
• It was Thanksgiving day and yet I had nothing to be thankful for. Most people would be carving turkey with their family but the only person I could call mine was dying in the hospital.
• I stepped into my mother's room and froze. She was sitting up in bed, her frail hands wrapped around her pocket Bible. Her skin was pale—almost translucent—making the dark circles under her eyes seem even harsher. The chemo had stolen her hair, her strength, and her glow.
• But it hadn't taken her smile.
• "Cece," she said softly, her lips curling up like it didn't hurt to move them. "You're here."
• I swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Of course I am. You think I'd leave you in a place like this without proper supervision? These nurses are probably feeding you Jell-O and calling it gourmet."
• Her laugh was light, like a breeze passing through broken glass. "You always know how to make me laugh, even when I feel like crying."
• I sank into the chair beside her bed, setting my bag down with a little more force than necessary. "You don't need to cry. That's my department, remember? You're the strong one."
• Her expression softened as she reached out to touch my hand. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steady. "You're strong too, Cece. You've always been my fierce little girl. Even when you were five, standing on that pew and lecturing the pastor because his sermon was 'too boring for kids.'"
• I smiled despite myself. "He deserved it. I mean, who quotes Leviticus at Vacation Bible School?"
• The door creaked open, and the doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. I stiffened, my smile vanishing.
• "Ms. Channing, could we speak outside for a moment?"
• Mom waved her hand dismissively. "Go on, Cece. I'll be right here."
• I followed the doctor into the hallway, my heels clicking against the tile. "Let me guess," I said, crossing my arms. "More bad news?"
• He hesitated, which only made the knot in my stomach tighten. "I'm afraid the chemotherapy isn't working. The cancer has progressed to stage four, and her liver is failing. At this point, we recommend focusing on her comfort."
• Comfort. Like this was some spa retreat, and all she needed was a warm blanket and a cup of tea.
• I pressed my nails into my palm to steady myself. "No," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "We're not giving up. There has to be another option—some trial, some treatment. You're the doctor. Find it."
• "Ms. Channing," he started, but I shook my head.
• "Don't." My voice cracked, but I didn't care. "Just... don't."
• I turned back toward the room, but my feet felt like lead. My mother's laughter drifted faintly through the door, and it made my chest ache.
• As I stepped inside, she was already asleep, her hand still resting on the Bible. I stood there for a moment, watching her breathe, and whispered, "I'll fix this. I promise."
• I felt devastated after my spiralling mother was injected anaesthetic to make her sleep. My mother was the reason I got into the porn industry despite the fact that I come from a proper and upright Christian family. My father's a role model at the church and it has always been the dream of my parents for me to be a nun. I was groomed for the role all my life.
• We were influential people in the church yet averagely comfortable financially. When my father couldn't foot the crazy hospital bills, I stared at the mirror one day and tore my nun dress to shreds, giving room for my inner beast to take over with the solid aim of kicking poverty in the ass and finally gaining my dream life of luxury with the flashy girl lifestyle I always craved.
• I met William who was my manager coincidentally at the church during Sunday mass and he was starstruck by my beauty. He wouldn't stop complimenting my light blue eyes. He would always say I should be modelling because the world deserved to be dazzled by my unique beauty instead of covering myself and hiding in nun outfits.
• I've always been wild as a young teenager. I had this crazy urge to explore, satiate my curiosity. If I didn't know better, anyone would tag me as adventurous. I used to cycle around the neighbourhood to steal mangoes from a strict old soldier who would throw stones after me and yell curse words while I laughed loudly with my basket filled with large ripe mangoes I carted away and my jet-black hair flowing in the direction of the wind.
• Mom collapsed one night when dad was away at a church convention. I called the ambulance as fear gripped my heart but the hospital requested some payments before proper care could be administered to her. Bewildered, I didn't know what to do. Dad's line directed me to his voice mail severally so I called William, hoping that his offer to help was still valid.
• William deposited a huge sum for the doctors to begin her treatment and that was when she was diagnosed with cancer. It was so overwhelming but Will stood his ground, helping in any way he could. It made me feel indebted to him, especially when mom started getting better and dad was still nowhere to be found. I felt I was turning my back against the teachings and principles of my religion by accepting this Good Samaritan's deal but Will promised to turn my life around if I could accept him as my personal Messiah and Saviour instead.
• I grabbed my bag and left, blinking back tears as I headed down the hallway. My vision blurred, and I didn't see the man until I slammed into him.
• It was like running into a wall—solid and immovable. I stumbled backward, my bag slipping from my hand.
• "Whoa there," a deep voice said.
• Strong hands caught me before I hit the floor. When I looked up, I was met with warm brown eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. His face was sharp and impossibly handsome, like it had been carved by an artist on their best day.
• "Are you okay?" he asked, his British accent soft but unmistakable.
• I blinked, trying to remember how to form words. "I—uh—yeah. Sorry. I wasn't looking."
• "No harm done," he said, his lips curling into a small smile. He gently steadied me before stepping back. "But you don't look fine."
• His words made something inside me crumble. The tears I'd been holding back threatened to spill over, but I swallowed them down. "I'm fine," I lied, my voice steadier than I felt.
• He tilted his head, studying me like he didn't believe me. "If you say so," he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.
• I bent to pick up my bag, desperate for an excuse to break eye contact. When I straightened, he was still watching me.
• "Thank you," I said quickly, brushing past him before he could say anything else.
• "I know this is not the appropriate question to ask at the moment, but would you like to sit at a cafe and have lunch?" He cocked a brow.
• "Oh! I'm fine." I said but my stomach grumbled ferociously and my eyes widened in embarrassment.
• "I guess I have my answer then." He linked his elbow with mine and dragged me outside the hospital.
• As we stepped into the elevator, I realized I hadn't even asked his name yet, here I was blindly following this good-looking stranger to God knows where.