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Desperate to get outside, I stride down the hall without waiting for her answer. The cold air hits my face as the automatic doors slide open. I loosen my tie and take a deep breath, but it does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest.

My fingers crave the comforting weight of a cigarette, an old habit I’ve been struggling to kick. Nicotine used to be my crutch for dealing with shit like this. Fucking hell, how did it come to this? Dad lying in that hospital bed…

Footsteps approach.

“How’s he doing?” Brandon asks.

“How do you think?” I take a long drag. “He’s dying.”

He chuckles. “Never were one to sugarcoat things.”

“That’s your job. Making things taste better than they are.”

We stand in silence.

“What happens after?”

“Fuck if I know,” I say.

“To the company, I mean.”

Right. The empire our father built with blood and sweat. His legacy. I’ll protect it with everything I have so that Dad’s sacrifice isn’t in vain.

“It’ll be ours to run. Yours, Novalie’s, and mine.” I flick ash onto the pavement. “Think you can handle it?”

Brandon meets my gaze. “I won’t let him down.”

“What about your restaurant?”

“I make it work.”

I give a humorless chuckle. “Welcome to the family business.”

“The doctor wanted to talk to you.”

I take one last drag before flicking the spent cigarette to the pavement. “Let’s get this over with.”

We head back inside, the antiseptic smell assaulting my nostrils. Fucking hospitals.

The doctor greets us with a solemn nod. Here we go.

“As you know, your father’s condition is deteriorating. The cancer has continued to spread aggressively despite treatment.”

Novalie gasps softly, Brandon clenches his jaw, and I remain impassive as the doctor continues.

“I’m very sorry, but we’ve entered end-of-life care. We’re making him as comfortable as possible, but there’s nothing more we can do. I’d give him half a year at most.”

“Half a year?” Novalie’s voice trembles.

“At most. It could be much sooner. I know this is difficult to hear—”

“Difficult?” Brandon cuts him off. “That’s one fucking way to put it.”

“Bran.” I place a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

“Don’t bullshit us, Doc. Say it plainly. The old man is on his deathbed. Ain’t no rainbows or silver linings here.”

The doctor clears his throat. “You’re right, Mr. Milton. I’m very sorry we couldn’t do more for your father. We’ll make sure his remaining time is as peaceful as possible.”

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