"Vera has ALS and won’t live past two years," Elias replied, his voice low. "Her greatest wish is to have a wedding. With Mira going abroad on a business trip next month, I plan to take this chance to grant her wish."
His voice softened with affection. "It’s just a formality, and we won’t register for a marriage certificate. Don’t make it public—Mira won’t know."
"Alright, no photos then!" came the reply.
"Yes, we wouldn't want Mira to misunderstand..."
Mira froze in place, her throat tight with emotion. She hurried out of the Westfield Fire Department and caught a taxi. The driver, noticing the "MRI" label on her bag, asked casually, “What’s wrong with you, miss?”
"Brain tumor," Mira said flatly.
The driver’s sympathy was evident, but Mira’s condition wasn’t as dire as it seemed. The tumor wasn’t life-threatening, though it was dangerously located. If removed, it would damage the hippocampus and cause permanent memory loss. The doctor had recommended conservative treatment to slow its growth, but surgery was inevitable in the near future.