Diana's first surgery happened just before Thanksgiving.
Elena took two days off work and traveled down to Maplebridge the night before, nervous and restless. She hadn't seen Diana in weeks. Their texts had become less frequent, and even when Diana did reply, her messages were short, often punctuated with apologies for being tired, busy, or simply overwhelmed.
By the time Elena arrived at the hospital, Diana was already prepped for surgery—her skin pale, her eyes sunken, but her voice as steady as ever.
"They said it's a routine laparoscopic procedure," Diana told her, trying to smile. "In and out. Nothing dramatic."
But it was dramatic—at least to Elena. Seeing the woman who once marched through life like a storm cloud tucked into a hospital bed, IV in one arm and heart monitor humming, made something twist deep inside her.
"I'll be right here," Elena whispered. "When you wake up."
The surgery went smoothly, or so the doctors said.
They removed the cystic masses without complication. The worst of the pain was managed with medication, and Diana was cleared to return home within four days. She walked slower, leaned harder on the railing as they climbed the porch steps, but she smiled.
"Don't look so worried," she said as Elena helped her inside. "I'm not a ghost yet."
Christmas came quietly that year.
Diana couldn't travel. Elena wouldn't leave her. And Theo, the dog, was more than happy to sleep through the entire season curled at their feet.
They didn't put up decorations. Diana said she was too tired. Instead, they lit candles and played old carols on her aging stereo system. Elena cooked what she could, mostly soup and scrambled eggs, and they spent long afternoons watching documentaries Diana never finished.
It was peaceful in a way Elena hadn't expected.
Until a man showed up at the door.
He came two days after Christmas.
Elena was folding laundry in the living room when she heard Diana's surprised laugh echo from the hallway.
She looked up to find Diana wrapped in the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver at his temples and a travel-worn coat still dusted with snow.
He pulled back, smiling at her like the world had paused just for this reunion.
"Daniel," Diana said breathlessly. "You're early."
"Couldn't stay away," he replied. "Flight landed this morning."
Elena stood, awkward and unsure.
Diana turned to her with a glint of joy she hadn't worn in weeks.
"Elena, this is Daniel. My… partner."
Daniel offered a hand. "I've heard so much about you."
"Hi," Elena said, shaking it. "I didn't know you were coming."
"I wasn't supposed to," he admitted. "But Diana's texts… well, let's just say I needed to see for myself how she was doing."
He stayed for five days.
Daniel wasn't intrusive. He made coffee in the mornings, folded blankets without being asked, took Theo out for walks, and read quietly in the evenings. He asked Elena about her job, about her future, about what she missed most about her mother.
Never too much. Never too personal.
Still, Elena watched him carefully.
He was kind. Gentle. Attentive. He looked at Diana the way people looked at windows during a storm—like they were waiting for the wind to change.
But Elena barely knew him. And that scared her.
Her world had become a series of unpredictable losses. She didn't trust easily anymore.
On New Year's Eve, Daniel stood at the front door with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
"Back to Sorellia?" Diana asked, arms folded tightly against her chest.
"Just for a few months. I've got some property deals to wrap up. But I'll be back."
He turned to Elena and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Take care of her while I'm gone, will you?"
"I'll try," she said.
"Good. And if you ever need anything—really, anything—my number won't change."
Then he leaned down and kissed Diana softly on the forehead.
And just like that, he was gone.
January rolled in like fog.
Diana was still recovering, moving slowly but insisting she was fine. Elena returned to work in Northwynn, checking in by phone, sending groceries when she could. Maya asked about her often, offered to drive down and help, but Elena always said, "She's managing."
And she was.
Until she wasn't.
It started with more fatigue. Then back pain. Then missed appointments and cryptic texts.
Diana didn't say much—only that she was tired, that the painkillers weren't working like they used to, that her doctor had requested new scans.
Then, in March, Elena received a call from a woman she didn't recognize.
"Hi, I'm Nadine—Diana's sister. I don't mean to alarm you, but… it's not good. She's being transferred to the University Hospital in Northwynn. Stage four renal cancer."
Elena didn't remember hanging up.