He finally copsed into the back seat of the car. As the driver sped off, Timothy''s hand remained clenched around the blood-stained paper.


    Now he understood. He finally understood why Jessica had said her life was his for only seven years. It wasn''t that she nned to love him for just seven years, or that she was giving up on their marriage. It was because she had cancer. She was running out of time.


    *I won''t fight anymore. I won''t struggle anymore. My life is yours.*


    Seven years was a lifetime. That''s what she had meant. Seven years was all she had left.


    That day, when he''d tried to destroy her birthmark, she had fought him so desperately. How utterly hopeless must she have felt to say those words to him?


    For four months, she had never mentioned her illness. Not once. On the flight back home, she had been in so much pain, her forehead slick with sweat. He''d wanted tond the ne, but she had refused. She was afraid. Afraid that if he took her to a hospital, he would discover her cancer.


    And he... he had never once considered that she might be sick. He was less than human. She was his wife. For four whole months, she had been suffering right in front of him, and he had beenpletely blind to it.


    Yesterday, in the hospital, he had lectured Vince about destiny. He''d imed it was fate that they didn''t divorce, that she was his in life and in death. His words had been a curse. And how had Vince replied? *You''re right. It is destiny. I have a feeling she will always belong to you.*


    Timothy felt as if his heart was being torn to shreds. Vince''s meaningful smile as he left, the unsettling premonition... he had known something was wrong, but he could never have imagined this. He had seen that piece of paper before. He had seen it and ignored it, missing his chance to know the truth.


    His entire arm began to shake as Jessica''s face, etched with a despair so deep she no longer smiled, shed before his eyes. His mind went nk. The world swam around him, everything blurring into a dizzying double image.


    The gates to the Zimmerman Manor were open, and the driver pulled directly up to the entrance. Timothy clutched his chest, the pain so intense he could barely breathe, and forced himself out of the caHe walked toward the vi, each step an agony. His heart felt like it was caught in a tightening, squeezing the life out of him.


    He stepped inside. Vince was sitting on the sofa in the living room, as if he''d been expecting him.


    "You''re here," Vince said, his voice devoid of emotion.


    All of Timothy''s arrogance, his pride, shattered into a million pieces. He could barely form the words. "Where is she?"


    "She''s been waiting for you for a long time." Vince pointed to a jade urn sitting on the coffee table. “There. She''s right there. She''s been waiting."


    Timothy''s eyes followed Vince''s finger. The urn seemed to magnify before him, growingrger andrger until it filled his entire vision.


    He lunged at Vince, grabbing the front of his shirt. "You''re lying! I don''t believe you! You just found her! You wouldn''t let her die!"


    "Tell me where she is!" he roared. "I want to see her!"


    Vince''s expression remained cold.


    "She''s right there. It''s the truth,,


    Timothy I''m not lying. Yat


    n?t


    said she


    was yours in life and death. Well, you get your wish."