The morning began with the quiet rhythm of care. A gentle voice cut through the stillness of a hospital room.

“Hey.”

“Sweets and a paper. You want to do the crossword?”

A soft laugh. “When have I ever done the crossword?”

“All right, narcopants. Just thought you might be bored.”

“I am. I’m exhausted.”

“Why didn’t you get any sleep?”

“Some chirpy nurse kept waking me up to do my blood pressure.”

The reply came with warmth. “Shame on those chirpy nurses taking good care of you.”

It was a tender exchange — the kind of intimacy that blooms in the quiet spaces between fear and hope. Two people stealing a moment of normalcy while something far darker loomed just out of frame.

A nurse arrived. “Morning, Kane. Morning. Well, you’ll be pleased to know your obs are all looking good.”

A flicker of hope. “Does that mean I can go then?”

“If you can show us you can walk without any cause for concern, you could be home by the end of the day.”

“Great. And will I get my results then?”

“That’ll take a little longer. I know the waiting’s hard, but we need time to grade the cancer.” The word hung in the air like smoke. Cancer. “I’ll check back in later. See how the walking’s going.”

“Thank you.”

“You may get out today.”

A steely determination took hold. “I will get out today.”

The nurse nodded, understanding. “I’ll let you get some rest. Good luck practicing that walk of yours.”

And then, in the fragile aftermath of that conversation, a small gesture of love. A cup of tea, prepared with precision. “One and a half sugars, precisely.”

“Cute. You remembered?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I can’t remember the last time anyone made me a brew.”

“That would be me yesterday.”

A pause. A smile. “I could get used to this.”

And then, a question that carried the weight of hope. “So, where should we go for our first date?”

“Well, the vets is going to be chocker this morning. So, how about pub lunch with everyone gawking at us?”

“Let them.”

“Okay. I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

It was a spark of light in an otherwise heavy world. But the brightness was about to be eclipsed.

---

The scene shifted to a noisy, chaotic workspace. A voice barked over the commotion:

“Right, listen up everyone!”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Mandy, can you put all that stuff away, please?”

“Oh, no. I’ve only got three meals left, babe. Sorry, I mean boss. I meant to say boss.”

The banter was familiar, almost comforting — the kind of rhythm that binds a team together. But the captain’s next words cut through the noise like a blade.

“We’ve had a massive order come in overnight, and we have promised it will be out for delivery by the close of play today.”

“What? As in today?”

“Yeah, as in today. Bear here was by far our star worker yesterday, and you’d all do well if you worked at the same rate he does. Five minutes and counting.”

A nervous whisper. “Shouldn’t we be making tracks?”

“Don’t worry. It’s all mouth sometimes. Be fine as long as the work gets done eventually.”

But in the middle of the chaos, a quieter conversation was unfolding — one that carried the weight of unresolved terror.

“I had the most insane dream last night. I was holding her, but her head was a cartoon. I mean, how mad is that?”

A pause. Then, softly: “Jacob, you’re not still worrying about Dr. Todd, are you?”

The name landed like a stone in still water. Dr. Todd.

“I just want her out of our lives. She is so weird.”

Another voice chimed in, sharp and curious. “Oh, go on. What weirdo are we talking about specifically? Let’s face it, the village is full of them.”

“Mean Todd. The boss from hell.”

The words tumbled out of Jacob like a confession he could no longer contain. “So, I went to see her yesterday because I felt bad about everything that had happened. Her dad had died, so I took her some flowers. She didn’t really say much — but then she came into the shop later and tore into me for no reason.”

No reason. That was the part that haunted him most. There was no logic to her cruelty, no pattern he could decipher, no off-ramp from the nightmare she had constructed