It had just started pouring when I came out of the hospital after my follow-up. 

Standing at the entrance, I stared at the word “terminal stage” printed on the diagnosis slip. Strangely, I felt relieved. 

Both tests came back with the same result. I had no choice but to accept it. 

At this moment, I felt extremely calm as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I decided not to think about it and called Freddie Sanford. 

I’d been keeping this from him, but I figured it was time to come clean. 

The call barely rang once before a robotic voice informed me he was on another call. 

My heart sank. I knew he had declined it on purpose. 

Freddie had grown sick of me ever since I confessed to him when I was drunk. 

To him, I’d gone from his obedient sister to a shameless woman trying to seduce her own brother. But in fact, we weren’t even related by blood. 

I didn’t give up. I called again and again, until he finally picked up. 

“What is it?” His voice was frighteningly cold. 

My heart sank even further. Clenching the diagnosis slip, I found myself at a loss for words. 

“What exactly do you want?” he snapped. 

Freddie’s patience was wearing thin. I could practically picture him frowning on the other end of the line. 

He never used to be like this. 

I pressed my lips and looked out at the curtain of rain. “Fred, can you come pick me up from the hospital? I need to talk to you.” 

As soon as I said that, he lashed out furiously. “Rosalie Hunter, are you seriously faking an illness right now? Is this fun for you?”