The morning sunlight streamed through the grand windows of the Donovan estate, casting a warm golden hue over the lavish breakfast spread. Kevin, dressed in a crisp white shirt and well-fitted jeans, hurriedly slung his backpack over his shoulder as he rushed toward the front door.

"Kevin!" His mother’s sharp voice halted him in his tracks. Mrs. Donovan, a woman of refined grace and unshakable discipline, stood by the dining table, arms crossed. "Where do you think you're going without having breakfast?"

Kevin let out a groan, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Mom, I’m going to be late. I’ll grab something on the way."

His mother’s sharp gaze softened just a fraction, but her tone remained firm. "Nonsense. You have time for everything else, but not for a proper meal? No wonder you keep getting sick. Sit down. Eat."

"Mom, I’m not a kid." He chuckled, stepping forward to peck her cheek. "And I’m perfectly healthy. Just because I skipped breakfast once doesn’t mean I’m falling apart."

His older sister, Evelyn, who had been silently observing the exchange, smirked as she sipped her coffee. "Actually, skipping breakfast regularly can affect your cognitive function. If you keep this up, you’ll start forgetting things. Like maybe, I don’t know, locking your car."

Kevin shot her a look. "That was one time."

"Twice," Evelyn corrected with a raised brow. "And if you had proper nutrition, maybe you’d remember better."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Not you too, doc. I get enough lectures from Mom."

His mother sighed dramatically, walking to the kitchen counter and picking up a plate with toast, eggs, and fresh fruit. "At least take this with you. You can eat it in the car."

Kevin hesitated. That actually wasn’t a bad idea. But before he could reach for the plate, his mother narrowed her eyes. "Or is there another reason you’re so eager to get to college today?"

Kevin blinked. "Huh?"

She arched a knowing brow. "You’ve been rushing out of the house a lot these days. Did you find someone special?"

Evelyn smirked behind her coffee mug. "Ah, that explains a lot. Kevin’s been all smiles lately."

"Oh, please." Kevin shook his head, feigning annoyance, though a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. "Little did I know my own family would turn into detectives. There’s no one, okay? I just enjoy college."

His mother's sharp gaze remained locked onto him, as if trying to read between the lines. "Hmm. You used to drag your feet out the door. Now you’re practically sprinting. If I find out you’re skipping classes to meet some girl—"

"Mom!" Kevin groaned, grabbing the toast from the plate and taking a bite just to shut her up. "I swear, you should’ve been the psychiatrist, not Evelyn."

"Trust me, she’d be terrifying in my profession." Evelyn chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Mom’s strictness is a force to be reckoned with."

"Exactly!" Kevin pointed at his sister. "She interrogates me like I’m some criminal!"

"I do not." His mother scoffed but didn’t bother denying her nature. "I just want to ensure my son isn’t throwing his future away for distractions."

Kevin sighed dramatically. "Right. Because having a social life is a crime."

"Not a crime," Evelyn corrected. "Just… not advisable when you have responsibilities."

His mother shook her head in exasperation, but there was a hint of fondness in her eyes. "Go, before you really are late. But eat that toast properly."

Kevin grinned, stuffing the rest of it in his mouth before winking. "Love you, Mom. Love you, sis. Don’t miss me too much."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "We won’t."

Mrs. Donovan sighed, watching her son sprint out the door. "That boy will be the death of me."

Evelyn smirked. "Or maybe, he’s the one keeping you alive."

As Kevin drove off, he couldn’t help but smile. No matter how much they nagged, he wouldn’t trade his family for anything in the world.

***

Ella was gone, but Sofi was still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in the weight of her thoughts. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. The room felt suffocating, thick with unspoken emotions.

The door creaked open, and Lucifer stepped inside. His sharp gaze landed on her unmoving form.

She stirred, pushing herself up to sit, but her movements were sluggish, as if even lifting herself was an unbearable effort.

"Not going to college?" he asked, his tone casual, but there was an underlying concern.

Sofi slowly shook her head.

"Why?" he pressed, stepping closer.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy.

"They’re going to judge me," she whispered.

Lucifer’s brows furrowed. "For what?"

Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out. "Because of this child… They’ll humiliate me."

His jaw clenched, and his hands curled into tight fists.

"No one is going to do anything, Sofi. They don’t even know." His voice was sharp, defensive.

She let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "They will… eventually. Kevin knows. Ma’am knows. They must have told everyone by now."

"They wouldn’t have," he argued.

Sofi scoffed, her voice laced with bitterness. "They would. And even if they haven’t, soon enough, they will. Then they’ll start looking at me differently—like I’m some pitiful creature who ruined her own life." Her breath hitched. "What if they’re already judging me? What if they think I’ve been sleeping around, that I’m just a slu—"

Before she could finish, Lucifer's hand shot out, covering her mouth.

"Don't you dare call yourself that," he said, his voice low, almost dangerous.

Sofi froze. His touch was firm but careful, his eyes burning with something she couldn’t quite name—anger, protectiveness, desperation.

Slowly, he let his hand drop, but his gaze didn’t waver.

"That’s what they think of me," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Lucifer exhaled "It’s not true, Sofi. You’re overthinking this."

She looked away, hugging her knees to her chest. "I wish I was."

A heavy silence settled between them. Then he spoke again, softer this time.

"I think Ella is right. You need to see a psychiatrist."

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. "Why?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Do you think I’m crazy?"

Lucifer shook his head. "No, Sofi. I think you’re hurting. And I think you need help to heal—to stop blaming yourself. A psychiatrist won’t see you as broken. They’ll help you put the pieces back together."

Sofi swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves. "I don’t think I’ll ever heal."

Lucifer moved closer, his presence grounding, his voice unwavering. "You will."

Before she could protest, he pulled her into a hug—tight, warm, reassuring.

"You will, Sofi," he murmured against her hair. "It’s just a matter of time. One day, you’ll wake up, and this pain won’t feel so heavy anymore."

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either.

After a long moment, he pulled back, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "And then, you’ll be my playful Sofi again."

She met his gaze, her lips parting slightly as if to protest. But she didn’t. She just stared at him, as though the idea of being happy again was too far-fetched to believe.

Lucifer smiled, a small, hopeful smile. "You will."

And for the first time in a long time, Sofi almost wanted to believe him.

***

Ella stood in the hall, her arms crossed, anxiously waiting for Lucifer to return. Her mind was restless, running through all the possibilities. Would Sofi agree to therapy? Would she refuse? Would she finally accept that she needed help? The anticipation gnawed at her.

Just then, a sharp pain shot through her stomach, sudden and intense.

She sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her mouth as nausea surged through her. Without a second thought, she turned and rushed toward her room.

As soon as she reached the washroom, her body lurched forward, and she threw up violently. Her stomach twisted in agony, and she gripped the edge of the sink for support. When she finally lifted her head, her heart nearly stopped.

Blood.

Dark red streaks stained the porcelain. Her breath caught in her throat.

What was happening to her?

A wave of panic crashed over her, but before she could even process it, she heard footsteps approaching.

"Ella?" Lucifer’s voice rang from the other side of the door.

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to push down the fear. With trembling hands, she turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, willing herself to look normal.

Steady your breath. Don’t let him see.

After a few moments, she composed herself and stepped out of the room. Lucifer was already standing there, watching her closely.

"Did she agree?" Ella asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice anything off.

Lucifer nodded. "Yeah, she did."

A breath of relief escaped her lips. "Good. That’s better." She straightened her posture. "I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr. Evelyn."

Lucifer raised a brow. "Dr. Evelyn?"

Ella nodded. "She’s one of the best psychiatrists. She’s kind, patient, and knows exactly how to handle cases like Sofi’s. She’ll help her heal."

Lucifer studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Oh, okay… that sounds good."

Ella forced a smile, trying to ignore the lingering taste of blood in her mouth and the dread settling deep in her bones.

"Okay then, I’ll leave. I have to go to the office," he said.

"Sure," she replied.

He gave a nod and left.

She watched him go and exhaled.

***

Ella sat in front of the doctor, her hands clenched together as he examined her reports. The silence in the room was deafening.

The doctor finally looked up, his expression unreadable.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, her voice laced with unease.

He exhaled, placing the file down on the desk. "Ella… there’s something I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Your husband specifically asked me to keep it from you."

Her stomach tightened. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You have a stomach tumor."

The words felt like a slap.

"What?" she gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. "That can’t be true… there must be some mistake."

The doctor’s expression remained firm. " you’re dying."

The room spun. The air felt too thick to breathe.

She stared at him, unable to process the words. "No… that’s not possible."

Her fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of the chair. "How long?" she finally managed to ask.

The doctor looked away for a moment before answering. "Not long. The tumor is in its final stage. Your husband asked me to hide it from you because he didn’t want you to lose hope. He wanted you to live the rest of your days happily, without the burden of knowing."

A single tear escaped down her cheek. "He should have told me," she whispered, her voice breaking.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. "Your husband loves you deeply . He thought this was the best way—to shield you from the pain, to let you live without fear."

Her stomach twisted in agony. Love or not, how could he keep something like this from her?

"Prepare yourself " the doctor said gently. "You need to decide how you want to spend the time you have left."

Her lips parted, but no words came out. A storm of emotions raged inside her—fear, anger, heartbreak.

"Is there no treatment?" she asked, her voice laced with desperation.

The doctor sighed. "It’s too late ."

A sob built in her chest, but she forced it down. She couldn’t break. Not yet.

She had to decide what to do with the time she had left.

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