The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 307

Chapter 150-2

Claim

“How are things with you?” Willow asks, oblivious to my silent assessment as a chair leg scrapes lightly on the wooden floor on her end. “Are you at home? You sound like you’re in a big space.”

“I am,” I say, easing myself down onto the plush rug in front of the hearth, tucking my robe around my knees. The heat from the fire washes over my face, taking the chill off my damp skin. “Just finished up a shift at the shop. I spent four hours chasing down a short circuit on a Softail.”

“Oh, the shop work,” Willow says, her tone tilting into that gentle, bemused wonder she uses whenever I mention grease or iron. “You know, even in the short time I’ve known you, it still amazes me how natural you are with your hands. Turning wrench handles, fixing heavy machines… it feels so grounded. Do you love it?”

“I do,” I say, watching the flames dance across the fireplace. “It’s Honest work. When something is broken in an engine, there’s a reason for it. You track the line, you find the snap, you fix it, and it works again. It doesn’t lie to you.”

“That makes so much sense for your spirit,” Willow muses. I hear the rustle of thick paper, what sounds like cards being shuffled with a soft, rhythmic snip-snap-snip. “You’ve always needed things to be clear. Visible. Tangible.”

“Are you drawing tarot cards in the tea shop?”

“I am,” she says, setting the deck down on the table with a soft thud. “I brought my deck along in my tote. A couple of cards jumped right out while we were talking. Do you want to hear them? Don’t worry, no doom and gloom. Just… energetic signposts.”

“Go ahead,” I say, swirling the dark red liquid in my glass.

“I pulled the Queen of Swords first,” Willow says. “Clear-headed, sharp, protective of her boundaries, but standing in her power. That’s definitely you right now, Zara. And right next to her… I got the Four of Wands.”

She pauses, and for a second, my chest tightens automatically, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But when she speaks again, her voice is warm and genuinely light,over the gentle clatter of farm shop dishes.

“The Four of Wands is the sanctuary card,” Willow explains. “Harmonious spaces, foundational strength, peace after a long, exhausting journey. It feels like the universe is validating where you are. You’ve built a sanctuary for yourself.”

“I’m working on it.”

There’s a brief lull in the conversation, a gentle, unhurried space that doesn’t feel loaded or tense. Across the line, a tea spoon clinks against porcelain.

“Zara?” Willow suddenly hesitant, her breezy confidence softening into something far more fragile, far more human. “Can I… can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer if it’s too much.”

I take a quiet breath, bracing myself. “What is it?”

“How are you doing? Physically, I mean, your health,” she asks softly. “The last time we spoke about… every thing… you were in the middle of your treatment. I know I haven’t earned the right to invade your private

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life, Zara. But I think about your body carrying all that weight, and I just… I hope you’re healing.”

The directness of the question catches me off guard, but there’s no malice in it. No hidden motive, no probing for intelligence It’s just one woman asking another about a fight for survival.

The defensiveness I usually wear with Willow like armor begins to soften, melting away in the steady warmth of the hearth.

“I finished my last scheduled round of chemo just almost three weeks ago,” I tell her.

On the other end of the line, I hear a sharp, quiet intake of breath.

“Oh, Zara…” Willow breathes out, her voice trembling slightly.

Claim

“I go back into the clinic in ten days for the final panel of tests and scans,” I continue, keeping my tone grounded so I don’t break down myself. “To see if the margins are clean. To see if it’s completely gone.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” Willow whispers, and I can hear the genuine, unvarnished emotion choking her throat. “Zara, that is… that is incredible. Your body is so strong. You’ve fought through so much poison, so much darkness, to keep your light burning.”

“It was tough,” I admit, looking down at my hands. “There were days I didn’t think my bones could take another drop of the IV. But it’s done now. Now I just wait for the numbers. Hope for the best. Hope that I don’t need to go through it all again.”

“The numbers will be beautiful,” Willow says fiercely, her usual detached cosmic talk completely giving way to pure sisterly pride. “I feel it in my marrow, Zara. The earth is holding you right now. You’re coming back to life.”

A small, genuine smile breaks across my face. It’s a strange, surreal feeling, sharing a piece of my private physical reality with a half-sister I met so recently, someone whose life is so wildly different from mine. But in this moment, sitting by the fire in my robe with wet hair, it doesn’t feel dangerous. It just feels quiet.

“Thank you, Willow,” I say softly. “That means a lot. Truly.”

“I won’t keep you,” she says after a moment, sensing the natural end of the conversation that we’ve shared. “I need to grab our flour sacks and head back. But… thank you for telling me, Zara. Thank you for letting

me know.”

“Take care of yourself out there,” I say. “Don’t break a tea cup.”

Willow lets out a bright, melodic laugh that echoes sweetly through the speaker. “I’ll try… I’ll check in again in a couple of weeks, after your appointment. Only if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” I reply, meaning it. “Goodbye, Willow.”

“Goodbye, Zara.”

The line clicks quiet.

I lower the phone onto the soft rug beside me and take a long, slow breath, letting the silence of the penthouse settle over me once again.

The uneasy prickle that had haunted me after our last call – that lingering phantom shadow of fear, the

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hyper-vigilance that made me question her motives – is totally gone now.

Clam

Today, we simply talked like two women navigating an unmapped relationship, leaving the heavy ghosts of our past out in the cold where they belonged.

I take a slow sip of wine, watching the bright orange embers flicker against the black river stones.

As the quiet settles, a simple, subtle troth hits me:

Willow and I are talking now. Not every day, and not without boundaries, but the channel is open. And Dad doesn’t have a clue.

He knows everything about my chemo and my scans, but he has no idea that his two daughters are speaking behind the scenes. Sitting here keeping it to myself feels wrong, like I’m holding onto a secret that isn’t really mine to keep. He’s her father, too, no matter how complicated or distant things have been between them.

r..

I set my wine glass down on the stone hearth and reach for my phone.

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