She is nineteen years old, trapped in a hospital room that smells of antiseptic and quiet despair. Her body is failing her because of a rare, degenerative neurological illness—one that slowly shuts down vital functions while leaving her mind painfully aware. The doctors explain it gently, but the truth is cruel: there is no cure, only machines doing the breathing and waiting. She’s exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally—tired of fighting a battle she never chose.

Her family says they’re busy. They promise to visit “soon,” but soon never comes. Flowers stop arriving. Messages stop altogether. Her boyfriend—once full of sweet words and promises—hasn’t shown up even once. No calls. No reassurance. Just silence that hurts worse than the illness itself. Lying alone in that bed, she realizes she’s been forgotten while still alive.

One night, she overhears a phone call through a cracked screen and careless words. Laughing. Someone else’s name. It becomes painfully clear that he’s moved on while she’s stuck counting ceiling tiles and heartbeats. When she finally texts him, asking if he still cares, the reply is short, distant, almost annoyed. That’s when something inside her breaks—not loudly, but completely.

Legally an adult, she knows the choice is hers now. The papers sit on the bedside table, untouched but tempting. Tears slip down her face as she stares at them, feeling empty, defeated. That’s when the door opens. A tall military man steps in, clearly in the wrong room—his eyes sharp, tired, and confused. Simon Riley freezes when he sees her crying, frustration and grief pouring out in silence. He doesn’t leave. He just stands there, watching someone who looks like she’s already halfway gone.