My fiancé, Caleb, was diagnosed with late-stage cancer just before we were to be married. Lying in that hospital bed, he and his mother pleaded with me to give him a child, a continuation of his legacy. Feeling moved by our three years together, I agreed and soon became pregnant. But I never expected that he’d want a final rush of wild freedom, hoping to fill the world with his own descendants. My name is Lila Caldwell. I’m twenty-one, freshly graduated from college, and just wrapped up a three-year relationship with my boyfriend, Caleb Northwood. We were finally ready to walk down the aisle. Caleb and I couldn’t have been from more different worlds. My family was modest—humble even. My passion and violin skills helped me land a place at Huntington College of Music on a scholarship. Caleb, four years older than me, came from a wealthy background and had already started his own small business. After one of my school performances, he introduced himself, charmed, and asked for my contact information. From that moment on, he pursued me with an intense passion. It didn’t take long for me to fall for him—who could resist a handsome, well-off guy who seemed to have it all? My parents, always straightforward and unpretentious, adored him. They couldn’t stop praising my “well-matched” engagement, convinced that I was lucky to be “marrying up.” They didn’t even ask for any financial support from his family. But just as we were sending out wedding invitations, Caleb, after years of dining out and hosting endless business events, was admitted to the hospital with severe abdominal pain. And that’s when everything fell apart. The biopsy results came back, confirming late-stage colorectal cancer. I sat by his hospital bed, clutching Caleb’s thin, frail hand, sobbing uncontrollably. The doctors had done a minimally invasive biopsy, so his abdomen was tender, and he had an oxygen tube up his nose, looking pale and pitiful. Seeing my tears, he reluctantly reached out and touched my face with his rough, trembling fingers, trying to comfort me. “Lila, please, don’t cry,” he whispered. “This might be better. After all, we haven’t tied the knot yet… this won’t keep you from meeting someone new. You’re still ‘single’ on paper—that’s good, right?” I shook my head fiercely, nearly shattered by the shock of his words. We had planned to get married next month. It seemed impossible to me that such cruel news could be true. “No,” I insisted. “I only want you. Just stay with the doctors, and you’ll get better—I know it.” It was a feeble attempt at comforting him because I’d already been told he might have a year left at most. He didn’t respond, just brought my hand to his parched lips, brushing a kiss across my fingers. I forced myself to smile, trying to keep my tears in check as I whispered, “Remember? You promised we’d go to Vienna and hear the Philharmonic perform once you were better. We’ll make it our honeymoon.” Even as I said it, I knew it was just wishful thinking. But I couldn’t stop myself from dreaming out loud. Beside us, his mother, Margaret, stood by the bed, usually glamorous but now looking worn down from tears. She’d fainted more than once since hearing the diagnosis. “Lila,” Caleb’s faint voice came again. “After I’m gone… marry someone good. My mom has my brother, and she’ll be fine, but I worry about you the most.” It was heartbreaking to realize that even now, he was still thinking of me before himself. I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Feeling the weight of his hopelessness, I finally broke down, sobbing over the bed. After some time, when I had calmed a little, I whispered softly, “Do you have any other wishes? Whatever time we have, I’ll do anything to make it come true.” He hesitated for a long moment before speaking in a low, raspy voice. “Lila, I love you more than anything. My one regret… is that we won’t get to have a child together.” I froze, feeling tears catch on my cheeks. Because of my upbringing, Caleb and I hadn’t been intimate, even after three years of dating. So, did he mean he wanted me to have his child? Caleb looked at me tentatively, his expression both pitiful and vulnerable. “If you could… the child would stay with my mom. I’d arrange everything so they’d inherit my share of the company. No one else would ever need to know about it.” His request hit me like a punch. I was only twenty-one, and I’d been planning to go to Austria for music school in a few months. Just then, his mother, Margaret, broke down into sobs, falling to her knees in front of me. I was startled, rushing to help her up, but she gripped my hands, her face wet with tears, and begged, “Lila, I know you’re a kind woman. Please say yes to Caleb’s last wish. It would give us something to live for after he’s gone. I’m begging you…” I looked over at Caleb, feeling conflicted. Honestly, I didn’t want to bring a child into the world who’d grow up without a father. His expression was filled with quiet desperation, as though asking, “Lila, isn’t our love worth leaving a legacy behind?” “Lila, this child won’t ever hold you back in life. I promise. After the baby’s born, Caleb’s father and I will make sure you’re set for the future.” I admit, I was young and deeply emotional, and Caleb’s suffering overwhelmed everything else in my mind. So, in a moment of weakness, I agreed. Caleb pulled me into a tight hug, resting his hand on my stomach, as though he already felt a piece of himself growing there. After his insistence, Caleb was discharged early, and he planned for us to stay nearby at Blue Ridge Springs Resort, his idea of a honeymoon to start a family. I suggested getting legally married, but he cut me off sternly, saying it would only complicate my future. “I’ll never let us get legally bound,” he insisted. A flash of doubt crossed my mind—was it possible he didn’t want me to have any claim to his inheritance? But I quickly dismissed the thought. I could feel he was sincere. He kept mentioning how he’d make sure I was financially secure after the baby was born. Though money didn’t matter to me, I was moved by his thoughtfulness. On the third day, hiding the truth about his illness from my parents, I joined him at the resort. When the time came, I was nervous, deeply uncomfortable with the strange blend of duty and sacrifice rather than pure love. My first time was painful and unsettling, and he barely noticed, caught up in his own needs. Afterward, he even told me to lie on my back against the wall for half an hour to “help with conception.” We stayed at the resort for a few days. Caleb was surprisingly optimistic, even comforting me whenever I worried about his illness. “Lila, don’t be scared,” he’d say, “I’ve accepted things. Living is all about enjoying what you have.” So, I stayed true to my promise, never using protection. Sometimes, when his illness faded into the background, his energy made him seem almost healthy. Yet, his thinning hair from chemotherapy was a reminder that cancer’s grip was unrelenting. Finally, after weeks of effort, I stared down at the test stick in my hands. It showed two lines—I was pregnant. But instead of feeling joy, I felt a hollow ache. I could only sigh. I hoped he’d realize that I wasn’t doing this for any financial gain but out of love. His condition worsened quickly after that, and the hospital visits became frequent until the day he never left again.
After confirming my pregnancy, Margaret’s attention only grew, and she even hired a caregiver to help me. “Lila, that baby in your belly is all Caleb has left,” she’d say. “You have to take care of yourself.” Still, I took it upon myself to look after Caleb, making soups and stews to encourage his appetite. Years of growing up without much had made me resourceful in the kitchen. That day, I cooked corn and rib soup from scratch, as I always did, and brought it to him in the VIP ward on the top floor of St. Mary’s Medical Center. The VIP ward was fitting for Caleb’s family’s status. It was lunchtime, and the floor was silent, sunlit hallways stretching before me as I walked toward his room, carrying the food. Though I had given up on my dream of studying in Austria and a future in music, I felt no regrets. I was doing it for love. But as I approached the door, I heard something odd—soft voices from within the room. I froze, pressing my ear to the door. The voice was unmistakably his. He’d removed his oxygen tube, whispering intimately to someone I couldn’t see. “…Jenny, give me one last chance. Have my child, my last hope,” he pleaded breathlessly.
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