A Year to Love

Mark Stein sat in his corner office, the city lights creeping through the blinds. “You have stage four pancreatic cancer. I’m afraid your prognosis is about a year, at most.” Dr. Harrington’s voice echoed in the polished room. Mark’s hand tightened around the armrest. “A year? That's it? That's all your med school degree has to offer me?” His voice was low, almost hollow. “If you start chemotherapy now, we could extend it. You know, give you a better chance at beating it. Even though it's beginning to spread, I believe we can still beat it, ” the doctor added gently. Mark laughed. It was a bitter, short sound. “Extend it to what? You're talking about weeks of poison in my veins, needles every day, nausea that would make me hate life? No. I’ll take my year on my terms.” Dr. Harrington’s eyes softened. “Mark… your father, he insists you take treatment. You know how he gets when he's hell bent on getting his way. He…” “I don’t care what my father wants,” Mark interrupted her sharply. “I will live and not survive. No chemo.” “Mark…” Doctor Harrington tried again. “I don't want to hear anymore about this Doc. I saw what chemo did to my mother. It took away every ounce of vitality in her bones. After months of the treatment, her body was here but her mind was gone.” “But….” Dr. Harrington really wanted to give him a glimpse of hope. “I said no.” Mark roared in anger, hitting his fist on the mahogany table.” Doctor Harrington wiped her brow and sighed. “ Alright. If that's what you want.” “Do you want me to tell your father?” The doctor asked. “No. I'll do that myself.” Mark replied. “Everything is going to be fine , Mark. You will beat this.” The doctor had stood up at this point and held his hands. Her fingers were warm as they touched him. Their eyes locked for a few minutes. Mark always knew Lisa Harrington had a thing for him. He had known since when she was treating his mother. But she simply wasn't his type. He never saw himself being with a doctor. Between the work hours and shifts, she wouldn't have time for his children. He wasn't against women pursuing their dreams, he just wanted to give his children the warmth and love that he never had. Mark simply acknowledged her with a nod. She took his nod as her cue and left his office. Later that evening, Mark tried calling his father. As always, it went to voicemail. He called him because he needed encouragement. Someone to give him comfort and succour but what was he thinking? If Richard was never there for his birthdays or graduation or even when he had won the annual influential business figure award, why would he be there now in his time of pain? Richard Stein’s voice kept ringing in his memory. “You’re my heir. Don’t make decisions that will endanger this legacy.” Mark closed his eyes as the words echoed through his mind. Legacy. It was all his father ever cared about. He knew he was never a son to his father, he was a mere pawn in his business deals. He felt like his world was crashing down suddenly without any warning. He hadn't even had time to write his own will. Who would? He was just thirty four. He had dreams of having children run around the house. Maybe even marry a beautiful girl of his dreams and at least give his children the happy childhood he never had. Cancer was taking all that away from him. Everything he had, wealth, power, influence. It all felt meaningless if he had no one to share it with. He poured whiskey into a glass, letting it catch the amber light. A year wasn’t much time but maybe it was enough to finally live for himself. Two days later as rain poured mercilessly on the city floors, Mark happily let it beat him. He wasn’t ready to go home after a busy day at work. So he left his car close by and walked into a tiny coffee shop. He was soaked to the bone when he walked in. Steam rose from mugs and the aroma of roasted coffee hit his nose hard. “Rough day?” asked a soft voice. Mark looked up. A young woman with a beanie held out a cup. “Here, it's on the house.” He blinked. “I thank you… but I…” “No ‘buts.’ Drink it before it gets cold.” Mark took the cup, its warmth spreading through his hands. “I’m Mark,” he said, extending his hand. “Denise,” she replied, cautious but genuine. “Sit, warm up a bit.” Her presence was comforting, fearless in a quiet, caring way. He found himself watching her, studying the small movements her waist made as she moved. She looked so alive in a world that seemed harsh and unforgiving. Mark leaned slightly on the counter. “Do you always give free coffee to strangers?” Denise raised an eyebrow. “Only to the ones who look like they lost a war with life.” Mark chuckled, the sound light yet laced with sorrow. “I think I’m barely winning today.” Her eyes softened. “Then maybe today will be a good day.” He smiled. He let himself enjoy the warmth of the shop for a while. Then, after enjoying the contents of his cup, he thanked her and left. As Mark stepped back into the rain, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. She was warm, sweet and kind, with a gentle light even in the city storm. But Denise had shadows he didn’t know yet. Her life was tangled with someone dangerous, someone who wouldn’t let go so easily. And across the street, in a black SUV, a man watched her. He was Carlos Vargas. A calculating, possessive, and ruthless man who had just noticed Mark’s attention on her.