It started like any other afternoon in Los Angeles — sunlight filtering through the windows of Forrester Creations, the soft hum of sewing machines in the background. Brooke had stopped by to return some sketches Nick had accidentally left behind. They hadn’t spoken much since his return, just a few brief encounters filled with unspoken tension and familiar glances that hinted at a history not quite buried. But nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to uncover.

Nick’s office door was ajar, and when Brooke stepped in, she called out, “Nick?” No answer. He must have stepped away. She moved toward the desk, meaning to place the folder down, but her gaze was drawn to an envelope lying open — its contents half-exposed. A familiar hospital logo caught her eye.

She didn’t mean to read it. But something — a strange instinct — made her pause. She picked up the paper, eyes scanning it, and in a matter of seconds, her world tilted on its axis.

“Stage four,” it read. “Metastatic. Inoperable.”

The words blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Her hand flew to her mouth. The rest of the report was a flurry of medical terms, test results, and timelines. But the meaning was clear: Nick was dying. And no one knew.

Brooke staggered back, breath shallow. Memories of Nick flooded her mind — their complicated romance, the way he once held her hand on a beach while confessing he loved her, the heartbreak, the distance. And now, this. A terminal illness he had told no one about.

Just then, the door creaked behind her. Nick entered, carrying two coffees. He stopped dead when he saw her.

“Brooke…” he said, his voice low but sharp with panic. His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Her hand trembled as she lowered the page. “Nick… what is this? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked away. The bravado melted off his face, revealing the truth he’d been burying beneath his usual strength. “Because it’s not anyone’s burden but mine. And because once people know… everything changes.”

Brooke stepped closer. “You’re dying,” she whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “You’re dying, and you were just going to disappear?”

Nick’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want tears or sad looks. I just… wanted to keep living while I still could.”

“But I care about you,” she snapped. “You think I wouldn’t want to be there for you?”

Nick looked at her now, truly looked — into her eyes, into the hurt behind them. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.”

Tears streamed down Brooke’s cheeks. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to shut me out. Not now.”

He exhaled, emotion finally breaking through the cracks. “It’s lung cancer. Too far along to operate. I’ve got months, maybe less. I’m on treatment… but it’s palliative, Brooke.”

She sank into the chair across from him, trying to absorb it. “Does Ridge know? Katie? Anyone?”

“No one,” Nick said softly. “I was going to leave town quietly. Set things in order.”

Brooke shook her head. “That’s not how this ends, Nick. You don’t get to walk away from the people who love you — not again.”

Silence hung in the room, heavy and painful.

After a long pause, Nick asked, “Are you going to tell Ridge?”

“I won’t,” she replied. “But you have to. You need people around you. Not just doctors. Not just charts and appointments. You need love, Nick.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“You do,” Brooke said, rising from her seat. “You always have. Even at your worst. Especially now.”

For the first time in years, Brooke reached for Nick’s hand. He didn’t pull away. They sat in the silence, past hurts melting in the face of something far greater. Brooke’s heart was breaking — not just for Nick, but for everything left unsaid between them. Time, the one thing always working against them, was now an undeniable enemy.

And yet, in the stillness of that moment, something unspoken passed between them. Not romance. Not regret. But understanding. Brooke would not let him face this alone. No matter what came next.