Chapter 285 I'm Accepting Your Proposal

Chapter 285 I'm Accepting Your Proposal
OLIVIA'S POV

The hospital waiting room was unnervingly sterile, with its muted beige walls and generic landscape paintings. I sat beside David, my fingers laced through his, trying to draw strength from the simple contact. The ticking of the wall clock seemed unnaturally loud, each second bringing us closer to a truth I wasn't ready to face.

Dr. Mercer entered with a solemn expression that told me everything before he even spoke a word. He settled behind his desk, placing a thick file between us like a physical barrier.

"Ms. Peterson, Mr. Wilson," he began, his voice carrying the practiced compassion of someone who delivers bad news regularly. "I've reviewed all the test results and consulted with specialists across three continents."

I squeezed David's hand tighter, feeling my heartbeat accelerate. Inside, a silent scream built up—a desperate plea for some miracle the doctor might offer. I'd spent nights researching every possible treatment, clinging to fragments of hope in medical journals and experimental studies.

"The early-onset memory deterioration syndrome is progressive and, I'm afraid, irreversible. We've explored every available treatment option, including the experimental therapies in Boston and Berlin."

My throat constricted. "What about the new clinical trials in Switzerland? I read about neural regeneration approaches—"

Dr. Mercer shook his head gently. "We've already contacted their research team. Mr. Wilson's condition has progressed beyond their acceptance criteria."

I nodded mechanically, fighting back tears. Beside me, David sat with a vacant expression, his blue eyes fixed somewhere on the wall behind the doctor. I recognized that look now—present physically but mentally adrift, the information washing over him without sticking.

My chest tightened with an unbearable pressure. This brilliant man who once commanded boardrooms and made million-dollar decisions in seconds was slipping away, dissolving like morning mist in sunshine.

"Thank you for your time, Doctor," I managed, gathering my purse and standing. David followed my lead automatically.

In the hallway outside, David stopped suddenly. "What did the doctor say?" he asked, his voice casual, as if inquiring about a weather forecast.

My heart splintered. He'd already forgotten the devastating news we'd received just minutes ago. I forced a smile, one I'd been practicing frequently lately. Each smile felt like a small betrayal against my own emotions, a necessary mask I wore to shield him from his own reality.

"Just some test results," I said lightly. "Nothing we need to worry about right now."

He nodded, accepting my answer with the trust of someone who had learned to rely on others to fill in his blanks.

The drive back to our countryside villa was quiet. We'd been living in this secluded estate for just over a month—David's suggestion after the initial diagnosis. Away from the city, away from Wilson Group demands, away from curious eyes.

As I navigated the winding roads, I stole glances at David's profile. How many more drives would we share where he recognized me? How long before he looked at me with the polite confusion of a stranger? Each moment now felt precious, like water cupped in hands, impossible to hold forever.

The property was breathtaking—sprawling vineyards, mountain views, spectacular sunsets that painted the sky in impossible colors. A perfect setting for our private tragedy.

"I think I'll nap on the terrace," David announced as we arrived. "The afternoon sun feels nice."

"Of course," I replied, watching as he settled onto a lounger, his eyes drifting closed almost immediately.

Once alone, I retreated to the kitchen, mechanically filling a kettle for tea. The doctor's words echoed in my mind: progressive, irreversible, beyond acceptance criteria. Clinical terms for a devastating reality—David was slipping away, one memory at a time.

I abandoned the kettle mid-boil and walked to the window. The sprawling landscape before me—once a source of peace—now seemed like a cruel backdrop to our unfolding nightmare.

Hours later, as twilight approached, David suggested our usual evening walk along the vineyard path. Golden light bathed the landscape, casting long shadows between the rows of grapevines.

We walked in comfortable silence until David suddenly stopped, turning to face me.

"I've been reading my digital journal," he said, his voice clearer than it had been all day.

I waited, giving him time.

"It's strange," he continued. "Reading about events I supposedly experienced, but they don't match my memories. It's like I'm losing the ability to tell which memories are real."

The raw honesty in his voice broke something inside me. I reached for his hand, feeling the familiar callus on his thumb—a remnant from years of pen-twirling during meetings.

"Sometimes," he said, looking down at our intertwined fingers, "I forget Andrew exists. Or Jessica. Sometimes I even forget Ethan." He paused. "Sometimes I forget we're divorced."

My breath caught. I felt a strange duality then—grief for the man standing before me, and an aching nostalgia for the man he once was. The man who would remember our shared history, complicated as it was.

"It's like trying to hold sand," he said, lifting his free hand and mimicking grains slipping through his fingers. "I don't know how much longer I'll be... clear. How much longer I'll be me."

In the golden light, David looked almost like his old self—confident, powerful, certain. But his words revealed the truth.

Something shifted inside me then, a decision forming with sudden clarity. The idea came not from calculation but from somewhere deeper, more primal—a place of protection and fierce tenderness I didn't know existed until this moment.

"David," I said softly. "Did you ever ask me to marry you?"

He looked surprised, then thoughtful. "Yes," he finally answered. "I gave you a ring with a diamond that matched your eyes."

I nodded, though no such proposal had ever happened. "I want to accept," I said simply.

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"I'm accepting your proposal. I want to marry you, David."

He shook his head, suddenly agitated. "No, Olivia. I won't let you be that selfless. I won't let you sacrifice your happiness for me."

"It's not a sacrifice," I insisted, the lie bitter on my tongue. "We could have a simple ceremony. Just us and a minister."

"Olivia—"

"Please," I said, surprising myself with the urgency in my voice. "Let me do this."

As we stood there in the fading light, I knew what I was offering—a final gift, a last bright memory before darkness closed in. I wanted to give David something beautiful to hold onto, something that might be the last thing he would forget. Perhaps it was selfish too—a desperate attempt to create one more perfect memory before time erased us both from his mind.

David's eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I saw complete clarity there—understanding, gratitude, and love.

"Okay," he whispered.

We continued our walk as darkness settled over the vineyard, hand in hand, while inside my chest, my heart broke and mended and broke again with every beat.