My Last 100 Sunsets

In my sixth year of running an inn in Rimevale, I'm diagnosed with bone cancer. I leave the inn in the hands of my fiancé, Eric Jones, and head to Varenia with nothing but an old enamel mug. Once I'm there, I start a livestream called "My Last 100 Sunsets." Every day at 7:00 pm, I turn the camera toward the snowcapped mountains and make coffee just out of frame. On my 31st livestream, a comment suddenly catches my eye. "Wait. Does that mug at the edge of the frame have a V-shaped chip in it?" Six years ago, when a blizzard left us stranded in the mountains, I kept that same mug filled with hot spiced cider for Eric all night. The chat explodes. "That's Alice Graham from Veylune Inn!" "Alice, why are you calling these your last sunsets?" Then a private message from Eric pops up. "Alice, where are you? Send me your location right now." What he doesn't know is that the night before I start chemo, I go back to the inn to get my documents and hear him and our receptionist, Denise Snyder, together in our bedroom. They're in the bed I picked out for us. "What if Alice comes back and catches us?" Denise asks. Eric laughs. "She won't leave me. Not after six years together." Standing outside the door, I open the confirmation email from an assisted-dying clinic in Varenia and click "Accept." By the time more than 100,000 people have signed up to watch my 100th livestream, Eric finally recognizes the snowcapped mountains outside my window and realizes where I am. I change the stream title to "My 100th Sunset: I Won't Be Here for Sunrise." Chapter 1 "Will you let me finish telling you what else I've lied about?" Suddenly, a woman's voice came through the stream. I had just changed the stream title, and my hand was still on the mouse. The request came from an account called "DefinitelyNotDenise." For a few seconds, the chat went quiet. Everyone assumed she was just another viewer calling in. But I recognized her voice. It was Denise Snyder, the receptionist at Veylune Inn. I said nothing. Out of frame, I picked up the kettle and slowly poured hot water over the coffee grounds. Denise's voice was hoarse. "Alice, I know you're listening. Eric and I have been seeing each other for four months. What you saw the night before you started chemo wasn't the first time." The chat immediately filled with question marks. More than 100,000 people were watching now, and the viewer count kept climbing. Private messages from Eric kept popping up on my screen. At first, every message said some version of "Where are you?" Then they became more demanding, telling me to send my location immediately. I glanced at the screen and turned my phone face down on the table. The camera stayed trained on the snowcapped mountains outside my window in Varenia. Denise went on. "He kept telling me you'd only gone away for treatment. He said once you finished this round, he'd leave the inn and call off the engagement. I thought sooner or later, he'd choose me." A burst of gold flashed across the screen as a verified VIP account joined the stream. It was Eric. He didn't request to join the call. He went straight to the chat. "Denise, shut up. "Alice, don't listen to a word she says. I just had a few drinks with her that night. Now she's using your illness and all the attention this livestream is getting to force my hand." I stared at the message, then reached over and nudged the enamel mug toward the center of the frame. It rocked slightly and settled back onto the wooden table with a dull thud. Denise gave a humorless laugh over the call. "Eric, do you really think Alice is stupid?" A second later, she posted a screenshot in the chat. It showed her messages with Eric. Eric's profile picture was a photo of a mountain glowing gold in the sunlight. I was the one who had taken it. One of his messages was right there for everyone to see. "She won't actually leave me. Once she's done with this round of treatment, I'll have the conversation with her. Just give me a little more time." The chat erupted. A few former guests of Veylune Inn recognized Denise's account. "Holy crap, isn't that the receptionist?" "I stayed there last year. Mr. Jones told me the wedding had been postponed, but he never said it was because Ms. Graham was sick!" "He even made it sound like Ms. Graham was the one getting cold feet." People in the chat began uncovering things even I hadn't known. I still didn't show my face. The faint clink of the enamel lid against the rim betrayed the tremor in my fingers. My phone suddenly lit up with an audio recording Denise had sent me privately. "Alice, he talks about your pathology report in this recording," she said over the call. I opened the recording, turned the volume all the way up, and held my phone close to the microphone. Eric's low voice came through. "Her treatment costs a lot, and taking care of her is exhausting. She hates being a burden. If she were really going to leave, she would've done it already. "She's not going to make a scene. Stop using her to pressure me. Just give me some time." He sounded like he was talking about some worn-out piece of furniture at the inn he was ready to get rid of. Denise spoke again as soon as the recording ended. "I also have a photo proving that he saw your pathology report." The chat was scrolling so fast I could barely make out the comments anymore. Eric flooded the chat with messages, desperately trying to explain himself. I gripped the mouse and opened the livestream settings. With more than 100,000 people watching, I changed the title of my next stream to "Let Denise Finish Her Story." Chapter 2 By the next morning, the replay of my livestream had spread throughout Rimevale. Locals, former guests, even bus drivers at the station were all talking about Eric and Denise. Denise went live, this time from behind the inn's wooden counter. She laid out four months of messages in chronological order for everyone to see. She faced the camera with no makeup on, looking pale. "I admit I was the one who went after him. And I admit I kept pushing him to set a wedding date. Every time I asked about Alice, he told me she'd never really leave him." Denise lowered her head, picking at the edge of the counter. "I thought Alice's silence meant she was okay with it. And every time Eric stalled, I convinced myself he was getting everything in order for us." My phone buzzed. Eric was calling me on video. I answered without turning on my camera. His voice was tired, but there was an unmistakable note of blame in it. "Alice, why did you have to let a bunch of strangers watch our private business play out online? What about Veylune Inn? How are we supposed to keep the place running after this?" He never asked about the pain in my bones. He never asked if I was scared of being alone in Varenia. All he cared about was the inn that once belonged to both of us. I watched the snowcapped peaks outside my window brighten in the morning light. "The inn is your problem now. Yours and hers. I already handed it over," I said. "Alice, enough." Eric took a deep breath, and his tone softened. "I know I handled things badly, but I never wanted to leave you. I've already set aside the money for your chemo. Send me your location, and I'll come get you." On my computer screen, Denise played a voice message from Eric on her livestream. "Denise, cover the front desk for me tomorrow night. Alice has chemo in the city tomorrow, and she won't be back at the inn tonight. I'll come over and keep you company." The chat erupted the moment the recording ended. One of the inn's regular guests posted a long comment. "I remember that day! Ms. Graham was in so much pain that her face had gone white, and she asked Mr. Jones to go to the hospital with her. He said a large group was checking in and he couldn't get away. "In the end, Denise brought Ms. Graham her medication and walked her to the bus!" My stomach clenched as I read the comment. I clicked away from the livestream and sent Denise a private message. "You knew I was his fiancée. You knew I was sick. Why did you stay?" Denise didn't dodge the question. She read my message aloud on the livestream. Her eyes grew red as she looked into the camera. "Because I wanted to see if he would actually leave you. I wanted to see whether he'd choose responsibility or the excitement of someone new." Another message from Eric popped up. This time, it was a photo. It was from six years ago, when a blizzard had trapped us in the mountains and knocked out the power and water at the inn. In the photo, I was bundled up in a heavy winter coat, handing him that same enamel mug filled with hot spiced cider I'd just made. He'd sent a long message along with it. "Alice, do you remember that day? We promised we'd run Veylune Inn together for the rest of our lives. Stop livestreaming. We still have an inn to run. Come back, and we'll start over." I stared at that last sentence and couldn't help laughing. The laugh pulled at my ribs, and the pain doubled me over. I reopened my livestream and posted a highlighted comment in the chat. "When did you find out I was sick?" With more than 100,000 people watching, the chat went dead silent for five full seconds. Eric's online indicator flickered once, then went gray. He logged off. On her livestream, Denise looked up at the camera. "Alice, I have one more piece of evidence. It proves he didn't just know you were sick. He even asked someone if you'd make it through this round of treatment. I'll post it before the next sunset." Chapter 3 Denise moved her livestream setup out to the courtyard of Veylune Inn. A few familiar neighbors had gathered around the cosmos flowers I'd planted myself. Doris Greene, who sold breakfast nearby, stood at the front, still clutching her apron in one hand. I kept my own livestream running, the camera still trained on the snowcapped mountains of Varenia. I stayed off camera and said nothing. Eric joined Denise's call while he was on his way to the airport. His voice was tight with barely restrained anger. "Denise, shut the stream down right now. What do you get out of ruining the inn?" Denise turned the volume all the way up and set her phone on the stone table in the courtyard. "Eric, is the inn's reputation really the only thing you care about?" Then she played a recording. The inn's kitchen exhaust fan roared in the background, and Eric's voice came through slightly muffled. "The doctors never said she couldn't get better. But she's terrified of pain, so who knows if she'll even stick with treatment? This illness takes too much out of everyone. We'll just have to take it as it comes." The neighbors exchanged glances. Doris covered her mouth. Eric was silent for a couple of seconds. "I did see her pathology report." He took a deep breath, somehow sounding like he was the one who'd been wronged. "When I said she might not stick with it, it was because I know how afraid of pain she is. I didn't want her going into treatment with even more pressure on her. I was going to wait until she got better before we dealt with any of this." Denise scoffed into the microphone. "Eric, you really can justify anything, can't you? You were using Alice's treatment to buy yourself time. You left her to handle all the day-to-day work at the inn while promising me that someday, you'd make things official with me." Eric's voice turned cold. "Don't act like you're innocent, Denise. Last month, when Alice had to go to the hospital to pick up some documents, didn't I tell you to make sure she stayed in the city overnight? "You were the one who texted her and said the inn was busy so she'd rush back that same night. You wanted her to catch us together, didn't you?" Denise's face went white. She bit her lip and stared straight into the camera. "No, I'm not innocent. I knew you had a fiancée. I knew she was sick, and I stayed with you anyway." Her voice shook. "I just couldn't walk away. I gave you months of my life, and in the end, you still didn't choose me." In the courtyard, Steven Lester, one of the inn's longtime employees, sighed. "Mr. Jones, you can't treat people like this." He leaned closer to Denise's phone. "Last week, Ms. Graham was in so much pain she could barely stand. She asked you to go to the hospital and pick up her pain medication. "You had Denise cover your shift, but instead of picking up her medication, you drove into town to buy the new game console that had just come out." Eric fell completely silent on the other end of the call. This time, he didn't try to make another excuse. I sat in my cabin in Varenia and listened until the confrontation was over. Outside my window, the setting sun had turned the snowcapped mountains a blinding gold. I reached out and muted the livestream comments. For the first time, I turned on my microphone. "I'll be alive to hear the rest." I looked into the camera, my voice so calm that it sounded like I was talking about someone else. "But I'm not coming back to decide which one of you is worse." I ended the call with Denise, opened my streaming dashboard, and scheduled my next livestream. I changed the title to "On My Final Stream, I'll Only Talk About My Decision." Five minutes later, the dashboard showed that Eric had visited my profile. He must have seen the title while he was waiting at the airport. He finally realized that ridiculous engagement was never the only thing I intended to end. Chapter 4 Denise scheduled the final recording to go live. Eric sounded almost casual in it. Denise asked, "How long is this round of Alice's treatment going to take? What if she doesn't get better?" Eric laughed. "Relax. She's not actually going anywhere. Without Veylune Inn, she wouldn't even know where to go." The recording blew up across every major platform. At the airport, Eric posted a lengthy statement. For the first time, he admitted that he had known I was sick. "I just kept convincing myself it wasn't that serious. As long as Alice could still keep the books and manage the rooms, I told myself everything was fine." He spun his own inaction as trust in my ability to handle everything. Denise came clean on her livestream too. She admitted that she had used my illness to force Eric to choose between us. The sympathy she'd been getting vanished almost instantly as the backlash poured in. I turned off all my direct messages and notifications, put on a heavy coat, and left the cabin by myself. The assisted-dying clinic was at the far end of the valley. A staff member handed me a form and asked softly, "Ms. Graham, did you come with a family member?" I took the pen from her. "No. I've already taken care of everything I needed to." Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Dr. Wagner, my attending physician back home. He said urgently, "Alice, don't sign anything yet. The pathology review just came back. We may need to reconsider the original diagnosis." My hand froze, the pen hovering over the form. "What do you mean?" "There's a new targeted treatment option, but it's extremely aggressive, and the risks are very high." Dr. Wagner paused. "You have to decide tonight whether you want to try it." I stared out at the snow-covered ground, hardly believing what I was hearing. "Dr. Wagner, did you see the livestream? Are you only telling me this because you're trying to stop me?" He said firmly, "No. There's no guarantee the treatment will cure you. It could leave you with long-term pain and limited mobility. All it can offer you is a chance to stay alive." After we hung up, I stared at the consent form on the table for a long time but didn't sign it. Then my phone lit up again. Eric had sent me a voice message. Wind howled in the background, and he was breathing hard. "Alice, I recognized the snowy peaks from the livestream. I know which valley you're in. Don't do anything stupid. I'm on my way." At first, he'd begged me to come back. Now, all he wanted was to see me one last time, and he wasn't asking me to forgive him. Denise called Eric right then. Afterward, she sent me a recording of their conversation. In it, she said, "Eric, don't show up at her door and tell yourself you're making amends. You're using her illness to prove how much you supposedly care." Eric was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I'm going anyway." Half an hour later, a familiar figure appeared outside the clinic's glass doors. Eric's hair was wet from the snow, and his eyes were red. He gave the staff my name through the glass, then pressed a hand against the cold pane. He called hoarsely, "Alice, I know you're in there. I'm not asking you to come home. I'm not asking you to stay my fiancée. Just give me one minute. That's all." I sat in the consultation room at the end of the hall, listening to his voice from outside without turning around. Just then, my phone buzzed twice. The clinic had sent me a digital copy of the confirmation form for the procedure scheduled for the next morning. Right below it was the pathology review report Dr. Wagner had just sent. "Alice, you have to decide tonight."