Chapter 1: A Doomed First Love’s Rewrite

The day I got my late-stage cancer diagnosis, I dreamed I was the doomed first love—the one who never makes it past chapter ten—in some gut-wrenching American gothic novel.

It was the kind of dream that leaves you rattled when you wake up, like you’re already halfway out the door. Shadows everywhere, southern heat pressing in, big houses hiding secrets—you know, the kind of place where love never survives the last page. Even in the dream, I could feel the weight of the ending before it hit.

My childhood friend, Ethan Calloway, was walking alongside me, rambling as usual: “Savannah, let’s go get some spicy wings.”

He nudged me with his shoulder. He wore that crooked grin. The one he always got when he was trying to cheer me up, like we were still kids sneaking out to the old pier. His voice was low and familiar, packed with all those memories that made me feel safe—even on the hardest days.

I managed a smile. “Let’s try something different for once. How about Kansas City-style barbecue with extra sweet sauce?”

The words tasted like watermelon juice and porch swings, like summer evenings and laughter that stuck around. For a second, I could almost forget the hospital smell and the way my hands shook when I thought no one was looking. I wanted to hang on to the ordinary, just a little longer.

Funny thing was, in the story, the heroine couldn’t handle spicy food. But after being with Ethan—trying to be more like me—she forced herself to eat spicy food every day and ended up giving herself stomach problems.

Isn’t it strange, the things we do for love? I remembered that detail from my dream, and it made my heart ache. I didn’t want anyone, not even a dream version of me, to twist themselves into knots just to fit someone else’s world.

Since my days were numbered, I wasn’t about to let anyone else suffer because of me.

It was weird, actually. Knowing the clock was running out. I felt a strange kind of freedom. There was no point in pretending, or asking anyone to carry a burden that was always meant to be mine. I just wanted everyone to have it a little easier, even if I couldn’t.

The place was packed, but at our table, it felt like it was just the two of us. Platters of ribs, cornbread, and steaming mac and cheese crowded the booth.

The place was all neon lights, laughter echoing from the bar—sticky warmth clinging to my skin. Outside, life kept moving, but in here, it felt like time slowed for us. The smell of hickory smoke and brown sugar hung in the air. Every bite felt like a celebration.

I ate slow, smiling to myself. “Turns out sweet barbecue is even better than spicy. People should always try new things—only then can you find what’s best for you.”

I watched the sauce drip from my fork, thinking how sometimes the smallest choices can change everything. I hoped Ethan picked up on what I wasn’t saying.

He set his glass down, leaning in a little, eyes searching my face like he was trying to solve a puzzle. I could practically feel his worry pressing in. The air grew thick between us.

He lowered his voice. “Savannah, are you okay? What’s up?”

His tone was gentle, but there was an edge. Like he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer. Ethan never let things go when he thought I was hurting. That’s just who he was.

I smiled. Shook my head. Lied through my teeth. Told him it was nothing. I hadn’t told anyone about my late-stage cancer diagnosis.

I forced my smile to reach my eyes, hoping he’d let it go, at least for tonight. It left a bad taste in my mouth, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him breaking—not yet. Not because of me.

I wasn’t going to be around much longer, so why make anyone else worry?

That was the truth I held onto. It made the secrets feel lighter. If I could carry the weight alone, maybe the people I loved wouldn’t have to hurt so much when I was gone.

But then I caught sight of a girl outside. She wore a thin jacket, clutching a basket of wildflowers, her face pale and pinched—something about her made my heart ache.

Through the fogged-up glass, I could just make out her silhouette on the sidewalk. She looked like she’d wandered in from another world—one where hope was something you had to fight for, every single day. My chest tightened with a familiar ache.

Same eyebrows, same eyes, same mouth. Like we were twins. What surprised me most was how much she looked like me.

It was uncanny, like staring at a faded photograph of myself from years ago, before I learned how heavy life could get. I blinked, half-expecting her to vanish, but she stood there, real as anything, shivering in the cold.

She had to be the heroine from my dream. But in the dream, she wore heavy makeup, looked lost, desperate. Hard to believe she’d ever been so innocent.

It felt like there were two paths ahead for her—one heartbreak, one hope. I wondered if I could change the ending, just this once.

I stepped out of the restaurant and smiled at her. “You look so much like me—guess it’s fate. I ordered too much food and can’t finish it. Instead of wasting it, why don’t you come in and eat with me? If you do, I’ll buy all your flowers.”

My breath puffed in the cold air as I spoke. I tried to make my voice warm and inviting. Like the porch lights that always stayed on at my grandma’s house. I wanted her to feel safe here, at least for tonight.

I pointed to the bustling BBQ place. Her eyes flickered—fear, hope, maybe both.

She hesitated. Looked at the door. Then at me. I could see the hunger in her eyes—not just for food, but for a little kindness. Sometimes, all it takes is one open door.

I took her hand and led her inside. Introduced her to Ethan. Then started serving her food, my heart thumping.

Her hand was cold in mine, but she squeezed back, just a little. I gave her a seat between us, piled her plate high with ribs and mac and cheese, making sure she got the best pieces. Ethan gave me a look, but kept quiet.

She ate fast, like she hadn’t had a real meal in days. Then, with nimble fingers, she wove two flower bracelets from the wildflowers in her basket and handed them to me. “Pretty lady, these are for you.”

She smiled shyly, her fingers quick and sure as she twisted the stems together. The bracelets were delicate, bright with color under the harsh lights. I slipped one onto my wrist, feeling the petals brush my skin.

I took the bracelets, kept my voice soft. “It’s freezing out—why are you out here all alone?”

I didn’t want to scare her off. Her eyes darted around, looking for a way out, but she didn’t move, just clutched her empty plate.

She looked embarrassed. “My name is Maria Reyes. I got into the University of Michigan’s business program, but my mom says we don’t have money, and that girls don’t need much education. She took my ID and forced me to quit school and work. Michigan gives scholarships to top students—just a thousand bucks a semester, so here I am, selling flowers.”

Her voice was small, but steady. The way she said ‘Michigan’—like it was a dream she refused to let go of. It made me want to fight for her, too.

She’d tried for jobs, but without an ID—and looking so young—no one would hire her.

Her shoulders slumped, the weight of the world pressing down. She’d told this story a hundred times, each time building another layer of armor. The unfairness of it all made my hands clench under the table.

So she picked wildflowers from her family’s fields. What else could she do?

I pictured her out there, in the early morning light, hands red from the cold, searching for something beautiful to bring into town. That kind of hope—I knew it well.

All I remembered from my dream was Maria’s heavy makeup and how, after losing his first love, Ethan kept her as his companion. He tormented her, over and over. After countless twists and turns, they finally fell in love and made it work.

The memory of that dream stung—how stories could twist people into villains or martyrs, never letting them just be. Maybe I could rewrite the ending. Make it a little less cruel.

"Low education, narrow-minded, a nobody trying to land a prince." That’s how Ethan’s friends described Maria. I thought of all the whispers and side-eyes I’d seen at galas and family dinners—the way people could be so small when faced with someone different. Maria didn’t deserve that. Not from anyone.

Turns out, Maria was a top student. Forced to drop out.

It made my blood boil, thinking how easy it was to judge someone without knowing the truth. She was stronger than anyone knew.

I pulled a debit card from my purse and waved it. “If a top student from Michigan’s business program comes to work at Calloway Holdings after graduation, this hundred thousand dollars is yours as a signing bonus—as long as you stick with us.”

I watched her eyes go wide, disbelief and hope flickering across her face. My voice was steady, but my heart hammered in my chest. No strings. Just her own ambition.

Maria was overjoyed, stumbling over her words. “I… I’ll never quit. I’ll help make Calloway Holdings the best.”

Her voice shook, but her eyes burned with determination. For the first time, she sat up straighter, ready to take on the world. Ethan grinned, shaking his head in quiet amazement.

I gave her the card’s PIN, left my contact info, and sent her a simple digital agreement. Once she signed, I let her go. I watched her leave, feeling something shift inside me.

I made sure she understood every word, walking her through the details with patience. When she finally clicked ‘sign,’ I felt a strange kind of relief. Like I’d managed to change the story, if only a little.

Ethan, who’d been silent all this time, finally spoke. “Calloway Holdings isn’t short on talent, Savannah. You’re just too kind.”

He said it like it was a flaw, but I could see the pride in his eyes. Ethan never missed a chance to tease me, but this time, there was something softer behind his words.

I just smiled. Maybe now, no one would dare mock her for being with Ethan.

I wanted to give her a shield, something that would let her stand tall in any room. I hoped, maybe, that would be enough to change the ending for both of them.

With Maria backing Calloway Holdings, its future was secure. Aside from the whole dying thing, everything else seemed just fine.

It was a strange comfort, knowing the company would be in good hands. I let myself relax for a moment. Pretending the future wasn’t already written in stone.