The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 243

Chapter 123-1

The room smells faintly of floral disinfectant and clean paper, a sharp, clinical scent that always makes the back of my throat tighten.

Morning light filters through the Blinds of the medical office, casting long, pale stripes across the polished linoleum floor.

I’m sitting on the edge of the examination table, the thin paper lining crinkling beneath my hands every time I shift my weight.

I’ve worn my favorite soft cream sweater – the one that feels like a hug and my favorite worn-in jeans, trying to bring as much of my real world into this sterile box as I possibly can.

Locke sits in the hard plastic chair right beside the table. He looks massive in the small room, his broad shoulders practically spanning the width of the chair back, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

His large, tattooed hand rests on my knee, his thumb making slow, steady strokes back and forth across my denim. He hasn’t said much since we walked through the clinic doors twenty minutes ago, but the calm, heavy warmth of his touch speaks louder than any words could.

The door opens with a soft click, and Dr. Callie Mercer walks in, holding a slim tablet against her coat.

She’s a woman in her early fifties with silver-streaked blonde hair pulled back into a neat bun, warm blue eyes, and a gentle, unhurried demeanor that’s saved my sanity more times than I can count over the last few months.

She doesn’t look like a woman who delivers life-or-death news for a living; she looks like a favorite aunt, someone who listens with her whole heart before she speaks, and then offers you home-made chocolate chip cookies.

“Good morning, Zara, Locke,” Dr. Mercer says, her voice smooth and comforting as she shuts the door behind her. She smiles, a genuine, warm expression that reaches the corners of her eyes, crinkling the soft skin there. “How are you guys doing today?”

“Okay,” I say. My voice sounds a little thinner than I want it to, a little breathier, but I hold my chin up. “I mean… nervous, but okay.”

She slides into the rolling chair behind her desk, setting her tablet down and folding her hands over the desk surface. She looks directly at me, her gaze lingering on my face, assessing my color, the set of my shoulders, the light in my eyes.

“Well,” Dr. Mercer begins softly, leaning forward. “I know these mornings are never easy, Zara. The anticipation is often worse than the infusion itself. But I want you to take a deep breath and hear me clearly on this.”

“I’m listening.”

“As you know, today is round six. This is your final scheduled chemotherapy session.”

Of course I know this; I’ve been counting down the sessions. But even though I knew it was coming, hearing Dr. Mercer say it out loud causes a sudden, violent lump to catch in my throat.

Chapter 123-

Final scheduled session.

Cham

The words sound almost unbelievable. For months, my life has been measured in cycles of red bags, clear tubing, metallic tastes, bone-deep exhaustion, and recovery days spent staring at the ceiling of the penthouse.

The idea that the poison is finally stopping feels like reaching the crest of a mountain I’ve been crawling up on hands and knees.

Locke’s hand on my knee tightens instantly. I look down at him, and his eyes are fixed on Dr. Mercer, his jaw set, every muscle in his frame rigid with a concentrated, quiet intense focus.

“Final session,” I repeat softly, the words tasting strange on my tongue. “It feels… Surreal.”

“It’s a major milestone,” Dr. Mercer agrees, her tone brimming with quiet warmth. “You’ve fought exceptionally hard, Zara. Your body has been through an enormous ordeal, but you’ve tolerated the regimen better than many.”

“And after today?” Locke asks. His deep rumble breaks the quiet of the office, low and steady, carrying the absolute weight of his concern. “What’s the timeline?”

Dr. Mercer shifts her gaze to Locke, her expression softening with deep empathy. She’s seen hundreds of partners sit in that exact chair, carrying the invisible, crushing weight of loving someone who is sick.

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