The hospital chief's office was on the top floor—quiet, imposing, all glass and steel and the faint smell of expensive coffee. Kieran walked in with his usual calm stride, but inside he was already braced. The call had come twenty minutes earlier: "Dr. Voss. My office. Now."
Chief Dr. Richard Harrington sat behind his desk—late fifties, silver hair neatly combed, sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. He didn't invite Kieran to sit.
"Close the door," Harrington said.
Kieran did. The click felt final.
Harrington leaned back, fingers steepled.
"I'm going to ask this once, and I expect honesty. Why did you take Blossom Silverstone—your patient—home with you for multiple days? Without formal approval. Without documentation. Without consulting anyone."
Kieran stood straight. "She needed palliative care outside the hospital environment. I arranged portable oxygen, monitoring, and emergency protocols. Her vitals were stable enough for short leave. I took full responsibility."
Harrington's eyes narrowed. "Stable enough? She nearly died yesterday. Hemorrhage. Cardiac arrest. Twice. And you think taking a terminal patient home—alone—is 'responsible'?"
Kieran's jaw tightened. "I monitored her continuously. I was prepared for any eventuality."
"Prepared?" Harrington's voice rose slightly. "You're not her guardian. You're not family. You're her doctor. And yet the entire hospital is buzzing with rumors. Nurses saw you carry her out like she was yours. You stayed overnight—multiple nights. You punched a visitor in defense of her. You locked her room. People talk, Kieran. They say you're having an affair with a dying teenager. That you're emotionally compromised. That you're risking your license, your reputation, the hospital's standing—for what? For a girl who has weeks left?"
Each word landed like a slap.
Kieran's hands flexed at his sides.
"Who is she to you?" Harrington pressed, voice cold. "Really. Because from where I'm sitting, you're acting like her lover, not her physician. And that's dangerous. You're careless. Reckless. You don't care about your position, your future, the trust patients place in this institution. You're throwing it all away for—what? Pity? Guilt? Lust?"
The last word cut deepest.
Kieran's throat worked. His voice came out low, almost broken.
"She's… everything."
Harrington stared at him—disbelief, then disgust.
"Get out," he said quietly. "One more mistake and I'll suspend you."
Kieran didn't argue. He placed his badge and access card on the desk—hands steady, but eyes burning.
Then he walked out.
Straight to the ICU.
Straight to me.
I was half-propped up in bed—oxygen mask off for now, cannula back in, monitors beeping their tired rhythm. The girls had stepped out for coffee. The room was quiet except for the machines.
Kieran burst in—door banging against the wall.
I startled. "Kieran?"
He crossed to me in three strides—dropped to his knees beside the bed, hands reaching for mine. His face was wrecked—eyes red, jaw clenched, breathing uneven.
"Blossom," he said, voice rough. "I need to say something. Right now."
I blinked—fear flickering. "What happened?"
He swallowed hard. Tears welled—fresh, unashamed.
"The chief found out that I took you home," he said. "The rumors. Everything. They're investigating. I might lose my license. My career. Everything."
My heart sank—cold dread pooling in my stomach. "Because of me?"
"No." He shook his head fiercely. "Because I chose you. Over rules. Over everything. And I'd do it again."
He took a shuddering breath—then lifted my hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles like a vow.
"Marry me."
The words hit me like sunlight after endless dark.
My breath caught—sharp, painful, beautiful. My chest squeezed—not the tumor, but something so big it hurt. Joy. Shock. Love so overwhelming it stole my air. Tears filled my eyes instantly—hot, sudden, spilling over before I could blink them away.
"Kieran…"
Everything inside me cracked open. This man—this beautiful, brilliant, broken man—was on his knees in front of me, offering forever when I barely had tomorrow. My heart—weak, failing—pounded so hard the monitor beeped faster. My hands trembled in his. My throat closed with emotion so fierce I could barely breathe.
"I don't care about the job," he said, voice cracking. "I don't care about the rumors. I don't care about tomorrow. I only care about you. About giving you my name, my heart, whatever time we have left. I want to call you my wife. I want to love you—officially, forever—even if forever is only days. Please, Blossom. Marry me. Let me be yours completely before… before anything else."
Tears poured down my cheeks—joy crashing against grief, love drowning everything else. My whole body shook with it—happy sobs, overwhelmed sobs, sobs that said *yes* before my mouth could form the word. This was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given me. Not flowers. Not promises of cure. But a vow. A name. A forever—even if it was short.
Nothing could have been more perfect.
More heartbreaking.
More mine.
I nodded—weak, trembling—tears streaming so fast they blurred him.
"Yes," I whispered—voice breaking on the word. "Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes."
He broke.
A sob tore from his throat—raw, relieved, triumphant. He surged up—cupping my face, kissing me hard, deep, desperate. Tears mixed on our lips—salty, warm. His hands shook against my cheeks, thumbs brushing away my tears even as his own fell.
"I love you," he whispered against my mouth—over and over, like a prayer. "I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you for saying yes."
I clung to him—weak fingers in his hair, tears streaming, body trembling with joy so big it hurt.
"I love you too," I breathed—voice cracking, but sure. "More than anything. More than life."
He pulled back just enough to look at me—eyes shining, face wrecked but radiant, tears still falling.
"I'll get a ring," he said hoarsely. "I'll arrange everything. Quiet. Here. Soon. Before…"
He couldn't finish.
I nodded—smiling through tears, heart so full it felt like it might burst.
"Before," I whispered. "I want to be your wife… before."
He kissed me again—soft this time, reverent, slow—and held me close, both of us crying quietly, wrapped in each other.
In that small, sterile room—with machines beeping and time slipping away—we'd just promised forever.
And for the first time… forever felt possible. Even if it was only for a little while.