My Fiancé Bailed On My Cancer Surgery

The night before surgery, Dr. Nathanael Howard, her surgeon, came by to review the plan and answer her questions. He reminded her when to stop eating and drinking, then pulled a chair up beside the bed.

“The scans suggest we can remove the tumor,” he said. “It’s a major operation, but we have a clear plan.”

“And afterward? More chemo?”

“We’ll know more once we have the final pathology results. I can’t promise you won’t need further treatment.”

She appreciated the honest answer. After three years of treatment, a period of remission, and then the recurrence, she was tired of promises no one could keep.

If this operation failed, she wanted to talk about comfort and quality of life rather than automatically begin another exhausting treatment. She had already told her care team that. For tonight, though, she would let herself hope.

Dr. Howard glanced at the empty visitor’s chair. “Is someone coming to be with you tomorrow?”

With the fear of death dulled, even the most painful emotions were easier to face. Florence answered calmly, “We broke up.” She’d texted Ryatt a breakup message the moment she left the bridal shop. He was still on the plane and hadn’t seen it yet. She imagined that when he finally did, he’d be relieved—finally free of her.

Dr. Howard, however, looked genuinely surprised. Then he brought up someone she hadn’t expected. “Would you like me to ask Lucian Bennett to stop by? He mentioned that you went to school together.”

The question caught Florence off guard. Lucian had been a school friend of hers and Ryatt’s and now worked in the same hospital. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and her memories of him were hazy. Her only current impression was that he was one of the brightest young neurosurgeons on staff. She couldn’t fathom why her relationship status would matter to him.

Realizing he’d stumbled into awkward territory, Dr. Howard quickly backpedaled. “Only if you’d like him to. He mentioned the other day that he was planning to attend your wedding.”

Ah. So that was it. “You can ask him,” she said. “Tell him I’m sorry there won’t be a wedding.”

With that brief interlude over, Florence turned in early to brace herself for the surgery the next day. Surprisingly, she had a pleasant dream. In it, she was back in her hometown—a quiet little town where she had her own cozy garden. She lived a simple, fulfilling life, wrapped in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the scent of spiced honey cake cooling on her kitchen counter.