The oncologist gave the grim timetable. Weeks.
Cynthia really didn’t feel that unwell, for such a dire diagnosis.
As they pulled into the driveway, Bernard said, “I’ll make reservations for the Grand Hotel. It’s your favorite place on Earth.”
The word Earth triggered Cynthia.
“No, Bernie, that’s sweet,” she said, “but I spent forty-two years in the office …
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