My Uncle’s Heart Was Mine, Until His Lies Tore Us Apart Novel – In the second year after my brain cancer diagnosis, I forgot everything. I opened the Notes app on my phone. On the screen, it read: [My name is Hannah Sloane. The person I love most is Ethan Cole, but Ethan is my uncle—my adoptive guardian who raised me for twelve years after my parents died.] In the same note, only one to-do remained: [Hannah, fix things with your uncle.
Don’t let your messy crush cost you the last family you have.] A familiar ache rose in my chest, yet all I could clearly recall was this: The Sloanes and the Coles had been old family friends for generations. When I was ten, my parents boarded a flight that never came back. For the next eleven years, I lived with my uncle, Ethan Cole, in the Cole household. But whenever I reached for the details of life with him, a sharp pain split my head.
My phone started ringing. The name Dr. Mark Sommer flashed across the screen. I needed a second to place him before I answered. “Hannah, I have incredible news,” he said, his excitement humming through the line. “Buy a ticket to Germany. I’ve secured you an appointment with our neurosurgeon. He can see you in two weeks.” He paused, then added, “If the surgery succeeds, you’ll need to relocate to Germany permanently and serve as an ongoing clinical subject in our research.” “Move to Germany for good?” I tightened my grip on the phone.
My voice shook. Something heavy and reluctant crashed around inside me, and Ethan’s cool, severe face flashed in my mind. My eyes stung. I hesitated, then asked, “What if the surgery fails?” Silence flooded the line. I could hear only Dr. Sommer’s breathing. After a long moment, he sighed and said, “The next New York–to–Berlin flight is in seven days. I’ve already booked your seat. Set an alarm so you don’t miss the flight.” Only after he hung up did I truly understand. If the surgery failed, I would be laid to rest in Germany. Which meant these seven days would be my last in the Cole house—my last chance to mend things with my uncle. … Sunlight poured through the windows of the mansion, pooling across the floor.
I reached for it and felt no warmth at all. “Uncle…” I began. “Hannah.” The voice behind me was low and precise. My heart jolted. I turned to find Ethan Cole standing in my doorway, not taking a step inside. He was keeping his distance on purpose. I was almost sure I remembered this room—every piece chosen by him when he brought me home, because he was afraid I wouldn’t sleep in a strange place unless it felt like mine. A spike of pain ripped through my skull, and old scenes surged up. When I was ten, Ethan brought me home and personally looked after everything—meals, school, sleep.
At eleven, worried I’d suffer in the heat, he secretly paid to have air-conditioning installed in my classroom and upgrades made to the cafeteria. Cole Group covered every expense. At twelve, I came down with the flu. Nothing the doctors tried broke the fever. In a pounding rainstorm, Ethan climbed the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral on his knees, lit votive candles, and prayed a novena. He whispered, “God, please carry Hannah through this. Spare her fear, spare her worry. Let everything go her way, and grant her a long life.” For twelve years, moment after moment, engraved in bone and blood. How could I not love him? Color drained from my face.
I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and almost asked why he was treating me like a stranger. Instead, Ethan’s brows pinched. His tone cooled. “Why didn’t you meet Jules for dinner last night?” That was when I remembered. Ethan had set me up on a date—with Julian Finch, heir to the Finch fortune. A year ago, I told Ethan how I felt about him, and he couldn’t wait to marry me off. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I forgot.” He looked away, impatient, the clean lines of his suit making him seem even sharper. “I don’t want to hear excuses.” “As an apology, I’ve invited him here for dinner tonight. Talk to him.
If it goes well, set a date and marry sooner rather than later.” He checked his watch. “Once you have a child, you’ll settle down.” “Julian arrives at seven,” he said. “You have an hour to shower and change.” He turned and left. He didn’t notice how gaunt I’d become, how far the illness had eaten into me. Maybe that made sense. Ever since I confessed a year ago, I hadn’t been the person he kept close to his heart. He blocked my number and told his assistant, “From now on, I don’t need updates on Hannah Sloane.” Security barred me from the Cole Group building. “Mr. Cole said, ‘No entry for dogs—or Hannah Sloane,’” the guard told me.
If Ethan caught sight of me anywhere, he would turn and walk away immediately. After he kept me at arm’s length for six months, I finally understood: The world is so wide that two people can live in the same city, in the same house, and still go six months wit