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It was getting late. The garden was bathed in golden hues as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

The stranger—still nameless—had relaxed a little; his shoulders were no longer as tense.

Stephanie stole a glance at him. He wasn't exactly talkative, but at least he wasn't ignoring her anymore.

It was a small progress.

"Do you plan to stay here all night?" she asked lightly.

He let out a slow, measured breath. "Not sure."

His voice was deeper than she expected, hoarse but not unkind.

Stephanie's eyebrows drew together. "But it's getting late. We have to go."

She rose to her feet ready to call it a day, "I still haven't gotten your name. What should I call you?"

The man slowly turned to her, his gaze met hers, lingering a bit more before turning away.

"...Don't know."

Stephanie blinked. "You don't know? What do the doctor and nurses call you, then?"

His expression remained neutral. "They call me, Mr. N.W.,"

Stephanie was even more confused, "Mr. N.W.?"

"That sounds more like initials, is that it?"

He gave a curt nod.

His gaze still fixed at the flocks of birds eating breadcrumbs.

Her lips parted slightly. "Was that all they found? Nothing else? No ID, no Wallet?"

"No." his voice deep with no concern as if talking about someone else.

A quiet breeze rustled through the garden. Stephanie studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.

"Mr. N.W.?" A thoughtful look crossed her face before she offered a small, teasing smile. "That's a bit formal. I can't keep calling you 'Mr. N.W.' How about I call you Mr. N., until you remember?"

The corners of his lips twitched slightly.

Just then, a voice interrupted them.

"Miss Stephanie?"

She turned to see one of the nurses approaching. "Dr. Ken, wants to see you before the night rounds begin."

Stephanie sighed. "Right. I guess it's time to find out how broken I am."

She stood, stretching slightly. Before leaving, she glanced at the man again. "Take care, Mr. N."

He didn't respond, but as she walked away, she could feel his gaze lingering on her.

*******

In the doctor's office, Stephanie sat across from Dr. Ken, whatching as he skimmed through her medical chart before meeting her eyes.

"You're healing well," he assured her. "But your ribs are still bruised, and I recommend you take it easy for at least another two weeks."

Stephanie nodded, waiting for the inevitable but.

Dr. Ken slightly leaned forward. "There's something else, though."

She stiffened in the chair, fingers gripping the armrest as she watched him leaf through the file.

With a sigh, Dr. Ken set the folder down. "Stephanie, we need to talk about your test results."

She nodded slowly as her throat tightened. Something about his tone felt off.

"You've been experiencing fatigue, nausea, and occasional swelling, right?" he asked.

Stephanie frowned. "I mean… yeah, but I thought it was just stress. Or the accident."

Dr. Ken's expression was gentle but serious. "It's more than that. We ran additional tests after noticing irregularities in your kidney function."

He hesitated for a brief moment before carefully measuring his words, "You have Chronic Kidney Disease."

The words landed like a heavy punch to the gut.

Chronic Disease.

Stephanie's heart raced. "What? No, that… that doesn't make sense."

Dr. Ken gave her a moment before continuing. "In your case, it's likely due to an autoimmune disorder—your immune system mistakenly attacked your kidneys over time. Based on your medical history, it could have started years ago, possibly triggered by an untreated infection or even genetics."

Stephanie swallowed hard. Years? And she never knew?

"But I've been fine," she argued, almost as if saying it would make it true.

"You were asymptomatic for a while, but your kidney function has been gradually declining. The accident didn't cause this, but it accelerated the symptoms. Now, your body is struggling to keep up."

A deep sinking feeling settled in her chest.

Stephanie was truly shaken to the core, her nerves tensed as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

"What does this mean? Dialysis? Medication?" she asked, her voice breaking with each word.

Dr. Ken hesitated. "For now, we'll manage it with treatment, but eventually… you'll need a kidney transplant."

An oppressive silence fell heavily in the room.

Stephanie let out a deep shaky breath.

A transplant?

Her body… her own body had been failing her all this time, and she never even saw it coming.

She pressed a hand against her ribs, where the dull ache of the accident still lingered. Now, she had something worse to deal with.

"Take your time to process this," Dr. Ken said softly. "But I need you to know—you're not alone in this. We'll do everything we can to help you."

Stephanie sat there, absentmindedly as large beads of tears fell down her cheeks.

What was her life turning into?

Where would she find a donor?

How would she afford the surgery?

Who in their right mind would be willing to give up a kidney for her—a total stranger?

So many questions.

But the scariest of them all was the one she wasn't sure she was ready to face

How much time did she even have?

Stephanie's shoulders slumped, her fingers tightly gripped the armrest as if grounding herself.

Her breath hitched as her tears blurred her vision. "How long do I have before it… gets worse?" she asked, forcing herself to meet Dr. Ken's gaze.

Dr. Ken hesitated, his gaze drifted to the medical file before meeting hers. "Based on your current kidney function, you're in Stage 3A of Chronic Kidney Disease. That means your kidneys are functioning at about 48 to 59 percent of their normal capacity."

Stephanie's swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"If we can slow the progression with medication, lifestyle adjustments, and close monitoring, you may have four to seven years before reaching end-stage kidney failure. But if your condition declines faster—due to stress, infection, or other factors—it could be as soon as three years."

Three to seven years. That wasn't enough.

Stephanie's fingers balled into a fist. "And after that?" Her voice choked, the weight of her condition heavily pressed down on her.

Dr. Ken folded his hands on the desk. "After that, you'll need either dialysis or a kidney transplant. Dialysis can buy time, but it's not a cure. A transplant is your best long-term option."

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

"Stephanie," he said gently, "I know this is a lot. But right now, you're still strong. You have time to plan, to find a donor. It's not hopeless."

She nodded numbly, but inside, her mind was screaming.

Three to seven years. That wasn't just a timeframe. It was a countdown.

**********

Stephanie sat there, staring at nothing, letting the weight of it all settle in.

The fear was real, but so was the truth. She didn't want to spend whatever time she had left drowning in worry or regrets.

Slowly, she let out a deep breath, pressing a hand over her aching ribs.

She wouldn't let this disease steal what was left of her life before it even came to that.

If time was slipping through her fingers, she would hold onto every second, every breath, and make them hers.

Neither with desperation nor with fear. But with calm determination.

However long she had, she would live—not just exist.

She looked up at Dr. Ken, her voice steady despite the storm inside. "Please… don't tell my mother about this."

Dr. Ken hesitated, his eyes filled with concern. "Stephanie—"

"Not yet," she interrupted gently. "She has enough to worry about already. I just need some time."

He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright. But promise me you won't go through this alone."

Stephanie forced a small, grateful smile. "I won't."

Even if, right now, she wasn't sure how to keep that promise.

Dr. Ken sighed, "You'll be discharged tomorrow morning. Just take care of yourself, Stephanie."

********