Chapter 6: Derek’s Confession, Megan’s Dilemma

Even though I really didn’t want to, I still showed up at Derek’s company the next day.

The building was sleek and intimidating, glass gleaming in the morning sun. I wore my best blazer and tried to channel some confidence as I walked through the revolving doors.

But he wasn’t planning on letting me work.

He was waiting for me in the lobby, arms crossed, impatience radiating off him.

He grabbed my wrist.

I yanked my arm away, but he held tight, ignoring the stares from passing employees.

Derek was forceful: “Come with me to the hospital for treatment.”

His voice was low, urgent, nothing like the cocky jerk I remembered.

I tried to shake him off, but couldn’t.

He was stronger than he looked. I tried to twist free, but he just tightened his grip.

I got annoyed. “Hey, what does my illness have to do with you? Aren’t you the boss? If I’m here, give me a job. I need this month’s salary to buy a new handbag.”

I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see me sweat. The handbag was a lie—I just wanted a little dignity.

Derek’s face was dark, his jaw clenched.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was about to explode.

“Still acting spoiled at a time like this. See what Caleb’s turned you into?”

“Do you realize if you don’t get treatment, you’ll die?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I looked away, suddenly unsure of myself.

Of course I knew.

Every night, the fear crept in. I’d lie awake, counting the days, wondering if I’d leave anything behind worth remembering.

My original plan was to make Caleb give up on me during these last six months so we could break up cleanly.

I’d rehearsed it in my head a thousand times—mean words, cold silences, a clean break. But now, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it.

But now, I’d changed from the villain to the male lead’s doomed first love.

The role was heavier than I expected. It felt like carrying a secret that might crush me.

That was my fate. Even if I started treatment now, I still couldn’t escape death.

I stared out the window at the busy street below, the world moving on as if nothing had changed.

I didn’t have much time left. I needed to think about how to say goodbye to Caleb.

The thought made my chest ache. How do you let go of someone you never really deserved?

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

Derek waved his hand in front of my face.

His voice brought me back to the present. I blinked, startled.

I snapped back and glared at him.

I mustered my best glare, but it didn’t faze him.

“After all these years, you’re still not over me? But I already have a boyfriend. Shouldn’t you respect boundaries?”

I crossed my arms, daring him to say something back.

Derek was amused by my attitude. It took him a while to look up.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

But his eyes were suddenly red.

His bravado faded, replaced by something raw and painful.

“Megan, I’m not over you. What can you do about it? I like you—that’s my business. It’s not a crime, is it?”

His words hung between us, heavy and unresolved.

As he spoke, he dragged me outside.

I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t let go. The morning air was crisp, filled with the scent of fresh coffee and exhaust fumes.

“From now on, you come to the office every morning, then I’ll take you to the hospital. In the afternoon, you go straight home. That way, Caleb won’t find out.”

His plan was ridiculous, but there was a stubborn kindness in it I couldn’t ignore.

“When you’re better, you can go wherever you want.”

I said quietly, “But I don’t have that kind of money.”

My voice trembled. The words tasted bitter.

Derek took a deep breath. “I do. No interest. Pay me back when you’re healthy.”

His eyes were fierce, daring me to refuse.

And just like that, Derek forced me to the hospital.

He drove way too fast, music blaring, but he didn’t say another word. I stared out the window, trying to memorize every little detail of the world I’d soon leave behind.

After a round of tests, I felt even worse.

The hospital smelled like bleach and loss. I clutched the printouts, wishing they’d tell a different story.

Derek handed me a bottle of milk, his voice unusually gentle.

He pressed the cold bottle into my hand. “Drink something first. I’ll take you to eat later.”

Suddenly, I wanted to cry.

The kindness undid me. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

“Derek, I can’t give you what you want. Please don’t be so nice to me.”

I looked away, voice barely above a whisper.

Derek chuckled. “Who wants anything from you? I just said that to trick you into getting treatment. With a face like yours and that temper—whoever likes you is just unlucky.”

He tried to sound tough, but there was a softness in his eyes.

He was right.

Maybe I was the unlucky one. Or maybe, just maybe, we both were.

It’d be better if he didn’t like me.

I thought about all the people I’d hurt, all the bridges I’d burned. I didn’t want to hurt Derek, too.

I stood up and shot back, “With a mouth like yours, surprised you don’t get soap for dessert.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, but he just laughed.

For the next few days, I bickered with Derek while getting treatment.

The routine became familiar—snide remarks, rolled eyes, shared silence in the hospital waiting room. I found myself looking forward to our arguments, just for something normal.

In my spare time, I started working on new recipes.

I borrowed cookbooks from the library, watched YouTube tutorials, and scribbled notes on index cards. My hands smelled like garlic and hope.

I got home an hour earlier than Caleb every day.

I’d light a candle, set the table, and practice plating food like I was on a cooking show.

So when he came back, there was always a hot, fresh meal waiting.

Pasta, roast chicken, homemade pizza—nothing fancy, but always made with care. I watched his face for every reaction.

He’d cooked for me for three years; it was my turn to cook for him.

The first time he smiled after a bite, I nearly cried.

Maybe ‘the one that got away’ was the taste of a certain dish?

I started to believe that love could live in the things we made for each other.

Watching Caleb finish everything I made, my mood lifted.

I marked the days with empty plates and grateful glances. I wanted to remember each one.

His birthday was coming up, and I wanted to pick out a gift.

I circled the date in my planner, determined to make it special.

So I dragged Derek along to help me shop.

He grumbled, but he came. We wandered the mall, arguing over ties and cologne, surrounded by the hum of weekend shoppers.