Dear Peter, 

Here's where it starts. The last few letters were riddled with my favorite moments of ours, but now, I have to move on to a time that we both wish had never come. 

Here's when our story began falling apart.

"It's lymphoma, Miss Preston." 

The four words were individual bullets aimed at my chest, each one more agonizing than the one before. I sat frozen, my fingers numb from clenching the white sheets on the hospital bed, my eyes waiting for tears that never arrived. I was deathly calm. Any normal person may have broken down, screamed, or at least asked a million questions. 

There are stages to grief, Peter, and I had somehow, within a number of seconds, skipped to the final one: Acceptance. 

The night sweats, fatigue, loss of appetite, dizziness--they had all been symptoms that I had foolishly ignored for far too long. I thought maybe I wasn't taking my vitamins right or maybe it was just a stomach bug. I thought that perhaps I just needed rest. I wish that had been the case. 

Instead, there I sat in front of a doctor who had just told me that I was dying. 

He seemed indifferent. I wished I was stupid enough to believe the sympathy laced through his words, but I wasn't. He'd done this far too times. He knew that growing attached to people was pointless in his field. 

I wish I was the same way. 

It felt as if the world was no longer spinning. The clock on the wall in front of me was taunting me with every tick tock; time was evil in its nature. It blessed us with the best moments of our lives and then snatched away our happiness far too soon. 

Once I spoke, it felt like my lips hadn't even moved. Everything seemed so surreal. I tried to think, but there were no words being conjured in my mine. 

Even my thoughts had gone silent. 

"How long?" 

My voice was feeble, but steady. The doctor's serious expression faltered, but only for a second. His eyes met mine and I saw a hint of compassion. He flipped the page on his clipboard and sighed heavily before once again meeting my eyes. 

His eyes said it all. They sentenced me to death. 

"The cancer itself starts in your immune system. Cells begin to multiple rapidly, forming a tumor. This spreads to your other organs through your blood, depriving them of necessary nutrients and oxygen. Everyone's body is different, but yours has spread faster than most. Scientifically speaking, you have maybe a year. Remember, that is just an estimated prognosis. A lot of people make it far past this projection and live a long, happy life. However, some..." 

He cleared his throat. I knew what he was going to say. 

'Some die sooner than expected.' 

But he didn't say it. 

"Because of your late detection, Miss Preston, there's no telling, I'm afraid." 

It was like he was reading from a script. I tried to hang onto every word he was saying, but at the same time, I felt myself withering away. How had I not known? I was dying. How could my body betray me in such a way? How could the same nature that I loved with all of my heart sentence me to this ill fate? 

"Miss Preston, uhh--" the Doctor cleared his throat again, looking down at his clipboard, "Lucy...I'm very sorry." 

Ha. An attempt at being compassionate. 

"Is there someone you'd like me to call for you? The young man who brought you in is waiting outside. I can call him in if you'd like. We can talk about paperwork and medical treatment later." 

I was numb, but I guess I had nodded by the way that he complied and walked out of the door. 

What was I going to tell Mom? Dad? Zoya? Charlie? 

You? 

How was I going to finish the sequel of my book? I was halfway through. 

How was I going to travel the world? 

How was I going to get my Happily Ever After? 

How was I going to do any of this when time was playing games with the longevity of my life? 

"Lucy," Charlie's voice broke me out of my trance. I breathed deeply, calming my nerves and trying to stop my hands from shaking, feigning a smile that I'd hoped was believable. 

"How are you feeling? What did the Doc say?" He shoved his hands into his pockets, curiosity, accompanied by concern, in his lively eyes. 

So he didn't know. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. All I felt were tears that finally began to brim my eyes, threatening to spill over. 

Charlie's smile faltered. His skin became a shade paler than what it was before. I could hear the million thoughts in his mind. 

That's when the tears finally escaped, rolling slowly, but surely, down my cheeks. Within a second, he was by my side, an arm wrapped around me, holding me close so that I could cry into his brand new sweater. 

There I was, having just been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and I was worried about ruining his sweater. 

"Lucy?" He whispered, his voice shaky. He was not far from tears himself. He knew something was wrong. 

"Call Zoya," I finally muttered into his sweater, not ever wanting to lift my head and face reality. I just wanted to stay there for as long as I could. 

Charlie, Zoya, and I. 

We were sat on the ground in a park, away from the city, surrounded by the same nature that pretended to love us. 

"It's bad, isn't it?" Zoya asked, her voice small. She pulled grass out of the ground and threw it aside, repeating the action. Charlie's eyes were on her hands as she did it. 

After being released from the hospital, I told Charlie to pick Zoya up and we came here. 

I can't say that I was coping. I wasn't. Truth be told, the only thing I was worried about was how to break this news to my two best friends. They sat in front of me, their eyes, which were already glossed with tears, filled with concern, their hands in each other's. 

"Whatever happens," I took a deep breath, "I want you two to stay strong, okay?" 

They nodded, but their eyes deceived them.

"It's lymphoma. Doctors say I have 2 to 3 years, maybe more..." I lied.

I didn't say maybe less.

The words rolled effortlessly off of my lips.

I'm not sure why it was so easy to tell them. Maybe it was because the magnitude of the situation hadn't hit me yet.

It was actually 1 year, but they didn't need to know that. They just needed to be prepared.

Two pairs of eyes met mine, tears falling from both of them. I took each of their hands so that we sat in a triangle, me holding Zoya's hand, her Charlie's, and his mine. 

A long moment was spent just in tears and hugs and unuttered compassion. Nothing needed to be said. In that moment, I knew how they were feeling. No amount of words can describe the way in which we were connecting.

The wind rustled the leaves on the trees surrounding us, kids still played off in the distance, and people just walked by. 

To the rest of the world, this was just another day.

"Are you going to call your parents?"

Zoya finally broke the silence. Her knees were brought up to her chest and she placed her chin on them, rocking back and forth slowly. The amount of pain in her eyes made it obvious that she was in even more grief than I was. I knew that if I was in her situation and she was the one who had just been diagnosed, I would've been just as devastated. Seeing her that way was a bullet shot through my heart.

And Charlie? Charlie was trying to be strong. He had to be for Zoya and for me. It was the first time I ever saw him cry, and to know that it was because of me broke my heart. Sweet Charlie didn't deserve to cry. Neither did Zoya.

He kept one hand on her back and the other in my hand.

"No," I admitted, finally steadying my breathing enough to speak, "I'll tell them when I go home on the weekend." 

I couldn't possibly give this news to Mom and Dad over the phone. It would break them, and I needed to be there to pick up the pieces.

"Peter?" Charlie asked, his voice hoarse.

"I don't know."

I didn't know. I couldn't tell you until your championships were over. You were training more than ever, spending hours upon hours at the gym and then the arena every day. 

"Lucy," Charlie squeezed my hand, "You have to tell him."

My gaze fleeted up to where a squirrel climbed onto a branch above us. It sat, with an acorn between its tiny hands, peering down in wonderment. Its eyes moved rapidly between the three of us, then towards the road every time a car went by. It was antsy, hyperaware of everything around it.

"I don't want to distract him," I admitted. Zoya and Charlie both gave me incredulous looks. They were almost outraged. Almost.

Can't be mad at the girl who's dying, right?

"Please," I stood up, brushing the grass off of my pants, "Let's not talk about this."

They followed suit, eyes heavy with concern. 

"Where are we going?" Zoya asked, snaking an arm around my waist. Charlie did the same from the other side. 

I smiled. 

This time, it was genuine. I was with two of the people who I cared about most. The truth was that even if I died the next day, I would've been happy.

That's when I realized that I didn't need to countdown the days. 

I just had to live every day like it was the last. Because I wouldn't mind it if my last memory was any day I'd spent with the people I loved.

I was blessed enough to have what I did. Grief had completely evaded my mind and any tears that had threaten to resurface faded away.

I just needed to be happy.

"Let's go get ice cream."

(A/N) PLOT TWIST! Not the last one either ;) hope this was emotional. I've been updating so much lately--this is my 3rd one today!!! Not many chapters left, but they're all going to be heavy ones, that's a promise.

Love you guys don't forget to VOTE! :)