Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter 56

"I'm afraid Marcus has only a few hours left," the doctor's voice cut through the stillness like a knife, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. The silence that followed was deafening.

Jemima let out a dry chuckle, disbelief etched across her face. "What do you mean? Marcus is perfectly fine! I've been with him all week—he just has a cold or something. Run more tests, doctor!"

Alan stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, while Vanessa hovered a few feet away, concern etched on her face. The doctor hesitated, his throat tightening as he prepared to deliver the news.

"Jemima, Marcus has a terminal illness—lung and liver cancer. It started as lung cancer and that has now metastasized to his liver," he stated with a calmness that belied the gravity of the situation.

"What does that even mean?" Jemima's voice rose to a frantic pitch, her emotions spilling over. Vanessa rushed to her side, trying to offer comfort.

"It means the cancer has spread through his lymphatic system or bloodstream to the liver. We managed it with treatment, but he missed several sessions, and that has taken a serious toll. I'm sorry, but I must go now."

As the doctor walked away, Jemima's mind raced, and her heart pounded in disbelief. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and raw. She didn't bother to wipe them away; instead, she let them flow as her thoughts spiraled out of control.

'How long has he been suffering? Why didn't he tell me? Is this happening? Is he going to die?'

Thoughts whirled chaotically in Jemima's mind, and in a heartbeat, she bolted. She fled the hospital, desperate to escape the crushing reality that loomed over her. Her legs pumped furiously, drowning out the frantic calls of Alan and Vanessa. The wind whipped against her cheeks, a harsh reminder of her urgency. She found herself racing toward the one place she had vowed never to return—the place she loathed above all else.

Jemima ran to the church.

Once inside, she collapsed at the altar, breathless and lost. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit sanctuary until they landed on the towering statue of Jesus, a figure she had long distanced herself from. Raised as a Catholic, she had severed ties with her faith, viewing God as an old friend she chose to ignore. Yet here she was, in his presence, tears streaming down her face, unsure of what to say.

The church was nearly empty, the stillness wrapping around her like a shroud. It offered a solitude that allowed her to wail silently, feeling as though her heart was shattering into pieces. She clutched her chest, eyes squeezed shut as if trying to will away the pain.

"Please, please, please..." she whispered, her voice trembling. The words tumbled out, nonsensical and raw. She didn't even know what she was pleading for—only that the weight on her heart felt unbearable.

"I just got him back! I just got..." the rest of her voice got drowned by the towing bell.

After what felt like an eternity, Jemima finally rose and took a seat, lingering in the moment. She wasn't ready to leave just yet; she craved the stillness around her.

"May I join you?" An unfamiliar voice broke through the silence, drawing her gaze upward. A woman, seemingly around Alan's age, smiled warmly at her.

Jemima remained silent, shifting slightly to make room. The woman adjusted the sleeping child nestled in her arms and settled beside her. They sat in solitude, the air thick with unspoken thoughts.

"My name is Zamora," the blonde woman finally said, slicing through the silence. Jemima opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, memories of uncomfortable encounters flooding her mind. It was safer to remain mute.

"I can't pretend to know what you're going through, but I promise you will overcome this," Zamora said softly, her gaze gentle as she cradled the child against her chest.

"You don't know me or what I've faced!" Jemima shot back, her voice laced with venom. Who did this woman think she was, offering empty platitudes?

"Perhaps you're right," Zamora replied, her tone steady. "But something about your aura beckoned to me the moment you walked in." Her voice had a husky quality that might have been soothing on another day, but today was not that day—not when her twin was fighting for his life.

Using the moment of Jemima's silence as an advantage, Zamora continued, "I was five when I lost my parents in a car crash. I was sent to live with my uncle, who..." She paused, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Jemima felt a flicker of curiosity amid her turmoil. What was this woman's story?

Zamora stared at the stained glass that hung above the wall. She hesitated monetarily before proceeding with her story.

"My uncle's torment began when I was just a child- the sexual and physical assault, a dark shadow that loomed over my life until I turned fifteen and finally escaped. The trauma ran deep, silencing me for five long years. For five years, I was unable to speak during which I worked tirelessly as a cleaner in every place you could imagine—hotels, restaurants, clinics, you name it. But I fought to reclaim my voice, and when I finally found it, I dared to step into the corporate world. With my limited education, the odds were stacked against me. Then, like a beacon of hope, I met Hans."

Zamora paused, a sardonic smile playing on her lips as unbidden memories surged back.

"Hans was the love of my life. He saw me, flaws and all, and loved me fiercely. We married, and I thought I had found my forever. But fate had other plans. Just a year in, he fell from a ladder while fixing the roof I had nagged him about. His last words echoed in my mind: 'Even when you pout and complain, I'll always love you.'"

"I'm so sorry!" Jemima gasped, her heart aching for the pain etched on Zamora's face.

"Then came the shock of pregnancy. Alone and unable to afford our home, I found myself on the streets, juggling multiple jobs to survive. That's when I rediscovered the church—a sanctuary that offered me shelter and support for my child. Life isn't perfect now, but it's a world away from the darkness I once knew, and the pain has dulled to a manageable ache."

Zamora's words hung in the air, and as she looked at Jemima, the depth of her suffering became painfully clear. Without thinking, Jemima moved closer, wrapping her arms around Zamora in a comforting embrace, sharing the weight of unspoken emotions.


They sat in a comfortable silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air until Zamora broke the stillness. Rising to her feet, she turned to Jemima and said, "I know who you are, SK. Everybody in New York does."

With that, she left, leaving Jemima in a state of shock. Here she was, bracing for judgment when all it took was a moment of vulnerability to connect.

Strangely invigorated, Jemima lingered in the church, reluctant to return to the outside world. Facing Marcus felt impossible; she couldn't bear the thought of him seeing her raw and exposed.

Jemima breathed in deeply and buried her face in her palms. She felt her emotions rising to the surface again and she attempted to shield herself from the world. Lately, she had felt extra emotional and the thought of losing Marcus and possibly Jon added to that. She just wanted this storm to pass and wanted it to pass as fast as possible.

"Jem!" A voice sliced through her thoughts, and her heart raced at the familiar sound. She gasped and spun around to find the source.

"Jay!" Without a moment's hesitation, she leaped from her seat and enveloped him in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks as she forgot their long-standing rivalry.

Time slipped away as they remained locked in that embrace, lost in their thoughts, the world around them fading into oblivion.

Eventually, Jemima pulled back, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. She bit her lip, trying to hide her embarrassment as they settled into their seats.

"When did you come back to New York? Where is Dimitri? How is Lilith? How did you know I'd be here?" she fired off a flurry of questions, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

"I heard the news and took the next flight back. Lilith is doing well. I found your scarf on the road," Jay replied, answering her questions with ease.

"Why did you come back?" Jemima asked, her brows knitted together, curiosity sparking in her eyes as she locked onto his gaze.

"I wanted to be with you, Jem. I longed for us to set aside our differences and find peace. I'm so tired of this endless fighting," Jay confessed, his voice low and sincere as he cradled her face in his hands, his gaze piercing into hers.

"I'm sorry for everything. Please, just forgive me."

"We're in church, so I guess I'm obligated to forgive you," Jemima quipped, a playful smile breaking the tension and drawing a soft laugh from him. They leaned into each other, lost in the moment, inhaling the comforting scent of one another. For Jemima, Jay's scent wrapped around her like a warm blanket, calming her racing heart. For Jay, Jemima's fragrance aroused him, stirring a longing he could hardly contain.

He was utterly in love with her, but he knew patience was key. Right now, she needed him to be her friend, not a lover.

"Let's go," he urged a hint of urgency in his voice.

"No, I don’t want to see him.”