---- Chapter 2 The first thing | registered was the rhythmic beeping of a machine and the sterile, antiseptic smell of a hospital. My eyes fluttered open to a blurry white ceiling. A familiar face swam into focus. It was Sarah Clark, my best friend and the only other person who understood the language of my code. Her face was etched with worry, her dark eyes red-rimmed. "Ethan," she breathed, relief washing over her features. "You 're awake. God, you scared me." She was sitting in a hard plastic chair pulled right up to the bedside, a half-empty cup of cold coffee on the small table next to her. It looked like she had been there for a while. A small pocket of warmth spread through the cold dread in my chest. | wasn' t completely alone. "Sarah," | croaked, my throat dry. "What happened?" "| found you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I came by to drop off those new sound assets. The door was unlocked. You were on the floor. | called 911." Her concern was so genuine, so raw, it was a painful contrast to Chloe' s cold departure. Sarah was family. We had met in college, two geeks who would rather spend a Friday night building a game engine than going to a party. She was the one who pushed me to start my own indie studio, who worked for ---- a fraction of what she was worth because she believed in my vision. "The doctor said it was exhaustion, malnutrition," she continued, her brow furrowed. "Ethan, what is going on? You haven' t been yourself for months. You look... you look sick." | tried to force a smile, a weak attempt at reassurance. "Just working too hard," | lied. "You know how it is. Final push on the game." She wasn't buying it. Sarah knew me too well. She could read me better than | could read my own code. She stared at me, her gaze steady and penetrating. "Don' t lie to me, Ethan. Not to me. |' m your friend. | saw the doctor' s notes on the chart when | came in. | know it' s more than exhaustion." My flimsy defense crumbled. The secret was too heavy to carry alone anymore. "Sarah..." | started, but my voice broke. "Tell me," she urged, her voice soft but firm. "Please." And so | did. | told her everything. The diagnosis, the prognosis, my decision to refuse aggressive treatment. | told her why | was pouring every last ounce of my energy into the game. The words came out in a quiet, defeated rush. When | was done, a heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the ---- steady beep of the heart monitor. Sarah didn't cry, not at first. She just sat there, absorbing the information, her expression a mixture of shock, anger, and profound sadness. Then, a single tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. "Why didn' t you tell me?" she whispered. "| didn' t want you to worry," | said. "I didn' t want anyone to "To what? Help you?" she cut in, a flicker of anger in her eyes. "Ethan, we' re partners. We' re friends. You don' t have to go through this alone." She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "We have to tell Chloe." "No." The word was out of my mouth before | even thought about it. It was sharp, absolute. "What do you mean, no?" Sarah looked at me, confused. "She' s your girlfriend! She has a right to know. She left because she thinks you' re a failure, that you don't care. This .. this changes everything." "That' s exactly why we can' t tell her," | said, the words tasting like ash. "| don' t want her to come back out of pity. | don' t want her to feel trapped. Imagine it, Sarah. She' s standing on the edge of this brand new, shiny life with Mark, and then | pull her back with this. 'Hey Chloe, don' t leave me, ---- I'm dying.' It's emotional blackmail. | can' t do that to her." My own reasoning sounded hollow and pathetic in the quiet hospital room. | was protecting the woman who had just shattered my world, making excuses for her ambition and cruelty. "Ethan, that' s not fair," Sarah argued, her voice rising. "She treated you horribly. She humiliated you. She accused you of holding her back, of wasting your money on that 'stupid game. ' She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know that the money she thought you were wasting... that it wasn' t for you. My head snapped up. "What are you talking about?" Sarah hesitated, looking conflicted. "| shouldn' t... you made me promise not to say anything." "Say what, Sarah? What money?" She let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Two years ago. Her father ' s business almost went bankrupt. He had huge debts. You sold the inheritance your grandparents left you, Ethan. You sold all of it and anonymously paid off his creditors. You saved her family. That' s where the money went. Chloe thinks you blew it on a failed startup idea before we started our company. She thinks you lied to her about it. You let her believe that." The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. Chloe ' s father, a proud man, had come to me in secret, ashamed ---- and broken. | couldn' t bear to see Chloe' s world fall apart, so | did what | had to do. | made him promise never to tell her where the money came from. | invented a story about a bad investment to explain why my savings were gone. | had carried that secret to protect her from the shame, to preserve her image of her father. And in the end, she had used that lie as a weapon against me. "She can' t know," | said, my voice thick with emotion. "She can' t ever know. It would destroy her, Sarah. Her relationship with her father... she worships him. | can' t be the one to tear that down. Let her think ' m a failure. Let her hate me. It's better than her hating her own family." | looked at Sarah, my eyes pleading with her. "Promise me. Promise me you won' t tell her. Let me go, and let her be happy. It' s the last thing | can do for her." Sarah stared at me, her face a mask of anguish. She saw the truth in my eyes-that my love for Chloe was so absolute, so self-destructive, that | would rather die with her hating me than live with her knowing a truth that would hurt her. It was a love that defied all logic, a love that was killing me faster than the disease in my cells. "| promise," she finally choked out, the words sounding like a defeat. "| promise, Ethan." She was promising to keep my secrets, to honor my last, foolish, and heartbreaking wish. She was promising to let the truth die with me.