Chapter 4

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room.

The sharp smell of disinfectant hit me immediately. It took me a long moment to recall what had happened before.

A wave of nausea rose in my chest.

Outside, it was already dark. I tried to sit up to get a glass of water.

Just then, the door opened, and Samuel walked in, wearing his white coat.

Seeing me awake, he paused. "How are you feeling?"

"My stomach hurts," I croaked, my voice hoarse.

"Okay," Samuel said, approaching the bed. "Lie back for a moment. I'll do a physical exam."

I nodded and lay down.

Samuel pressed gently on my stomach. "Does this hurt?"

I shook my head.

He pressed another spot nearby. I couldn't help but let out a soft groan.

"Painful?" he asked, turning to look at me.

I nodded. Dr. Stone, what is my condition right now?"

He stood up, took out the notebook he always carried, and made some notes, glancing at me over the top. "I still strongly recommend that you have surgery as soon as possible."

I thought about my meager savings.

After a brief silence, I made up my mind. I gritted my teeth and looked at him. "Dr. Stone, help me schedule the surgery. Did you cover today's hospitalization costs?"

"Yes," Samuel replied, pausing a moment. "No rush to pay me back."

I wasn't sure if he had noticed my worry over the expenses, but now was clearly not the time to show off.

I nodded. "Okay. I'll figure out a way to pay you back after the surgery."

Samuel didn't respond. He said in a calm tone, "I'm on duty tonight. If you feel unwell, go to the nurse's station and ask for me."

I nodded again.

Just as Samuel was about to leave, I remembered something. "Dr. Stone, can I leave the hospital for a bit tomorrow morning?"

He looked at me. "I'll schedule the surgery as soon as possible. As long as it doesn't interfere with your treatment, it's fine."

*****

Samuel quickly informed me of the surgery date.

It was set for next Wednesday morning.

Four days from now—the fastest possible, given all the hospital's considerations.

Ahead of me, there were at least three other complex surgeries for late-stage stomach cancer with complications. Each was high-risk, with unpredictable postoperative outcomes.

The hospital moved at a relentless pace. Having seen countless patients, I had come to view stomach cancer as serious but manageable.

The next morning, I got ready and called Eric. "Where are you? Let's meet and get this divorce over with."

Eric wasn't at work; he was at the hospital taking care of his mistress.

Thankfully, Emily and the baby were fine thanks to prompt medical attention. But Emily's health was weak, so she needed a few days of hospital care.

We arranged to meet at the hospital entrance. Eric saw me in the same clothes as yesterday and immediately scowled. His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Lucy, I seriously underestimated you. You didn't go home last night, did you? Don't act high and mighty, lecturing me. We're even."

I looked at the man before me and felt how utterly unfamiliar he had become.

I didn't want to say a word more. I spoke coldly. "How are we dividing our assets?"

Eric immediately raised his voice. "How else? You'll walk away with nothing."

He said it as if it were self-evident. I felt my anger flare again.

True, when we got married, he had paid for the house and car, and he had taken on the bulk of the mortgage.

But with a single sentence, he erased all the years I had contributed to this home. How could I not be furious?

"Lucy, you're not seriously going to be difficult, are you? I've been supporting you for three years. You planning to squeeze even more out of me before you leave?"

I looked at him, thinking about every single day of those three years: preparing breakfast and dinner without fail, cleaning the house, taking care of him and Delphine.

At that moment, I knew more clearly than ever that I had spent over a thousand days living like a fool.

I didn't want to say another word. I hailed a cab.

First, I went home to grab the necessary documents, then took another taxi to City Hall.

The divorce process was quick. As soon as we walked out, Eric didn't even say goodbye; he just turned and left.

I held the papers in my hand and felt an unexpected lightness.

Even though I had no money, no property, and cancer, this was, without a doubt, the most liberated moment of my past three years.

From now on, I was on my own. Whether I lived or died, and how I lived, depended entirely on me. I took a deep breath and prepared to call a car back to the hospital.

But just a few steps later, a black Audi pulled up in front of me.

The window rolled down, and I saw Samuel.

"Dr. Stone? What are you doing here?" I asked, startled.

He looked different from his usual crisp, put-together self.

There were red veins in his eyes, his coat hung loosely, and he looked like he'd been woken up in the middle of the night.

"I had an emergency surgery pop up. I need to get back to the hospital," Samuel said.

I guessed correctly.

He had just finished his overnight shift. Around midnight, I had even heard the nurses calling his name in my room; there had been a car accident, and he was needed in the ER.

I had always known doctors were busy, but this time I truly felt it.

"You should get going. Don't delay the patient's treatment," I said.

"Aren't you going back?" he asked.

I paused. "I'm heading back, but—"

"Hop in," he said. "It's on the way."

I hesitated for a moment, then got in.

There was nothing to overthink; we were headed the same way, and I was just catching a ride.

"Have you eaten?" I asked after we got in. I thought it better to stay silent.

"No," he said, clearly rushed and likely still on an empty stomach.

Just as I expected.

Passing a convenience store, I spoke up. "Dr. Stone, can we stop for a minute? Just two minutes?"

He braked.

I ran inside and grabbed two pies and a coffee, then got back in the car.

"Here, take these. Eat them when you get a chance. You'll be busy with surgery soon. Don't go on an empty stomach," I said.

Samuel glanced at me but didn't say anything.

When we arrived, he didn't rush out immediately. He actually ate the pie and drank the coffee.

He still ate quickly, like always, but at least he ate something.

After finishing, he frowned. "This pie isn't very good."

I hadn't expected a gastroenterologist to be picky about food. I realized I'd taken it for granted.

Everyone was a little picky sometimes, even doctors.

I smiled, "Next time, I'll pick another breakfast place."

He nodded, then suddenly said, "Let's add each other on Instagram."

I was slightly taken aback but didn't ask questions. I pulled out my phone and handed it to him.

A notification sound chimed. We were now connected.

I opened his Instagram profile, just a clear blue sky as his avatar, and casually scrolled. It was empty without a single post.

"Your Instagram is impressively clean," I teased.

"Nothing to post," Samuel said.

Then, unexpectedly, he handed me a bill.

"For the food," he said.

I forced a smile. "Samuel, really? Two pies aren't expensive."

"I never owe anyone money," he said firmly.

I turned to look at him. "Dr. Stone, if you're going to be that strict, I guess I owe you my life."

Samuel didn't respond.

Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at it, hung up, and hurried toward the ER.

Before leaving, he looked back. "I'm glad you have confidence in your recovery. Keep staying optimistic."

I got out of the car and strolled back to the hospital wing, feeling lighter than I had in years.