Chapter 5

Perhaps freed from the chains of that miserable marriage, I could feel my mood visibly improve.

The most obvious sign was my appetite.

Before, even a little food would make me feel nauseous. Now, I could eat a lot.

Until the day before surgery, I hadn't seen Samuel at all.

The nurses said he'd been getting busier and busier, with several major surgeries back-to-back. Everyone worried about his well-being.

The younger nurses would chatter endlessly, but everything always ended with a sigh.

There was nothing they could do; these high-risk surgeries were beyond anyone else's skill.

In the gastroenterology department, Samuel was unmatched, truly irreplaceable.

*****

Over the past four days, I'd been pushed through countless tests and check-ups, with more than ten vials of blood drawn.

All I could do was eat well to maintain my strength. In my free moments, I wrote my novel.

Since learning about my illness, I had been writing even more diligently.

This work was my only source of income at the moment. I had to hold on to it no matter what.

Late at night, when everything was quiet, fear would creep in.

Yet, there was a comforting constant. Samuel occasionally messaged me.

Knowing I was staying in the hospital alone, he would often ask what I had eaten, at what time, showing concern for my diet.

I attributed this to his professional instincts; he couldn't bear to see a patient mistreat their stomach.

But undeniably, these small, ordinary messages gave me an immense sense of reassurance.

Often, I would reply, and he would take a long time to respond. Then I would reply again, and so on.

This back-and-forth never annoyed me.

The night before surgery, I finally saw Samuel.

He looked worn out, likely just coming off a long surgery. After explaining the preoperative precautions, he asked, "Are your parents here? Do you need someone to sign the consent form?"

"Can I sign it myself?" I asked hesitantly.

He looked at me and said, "Yes, you can."

Before leaving, he said, "Don't be afraid. You'll sleep tomorrow, and when you wake up, everything will be fine."

There was nothing more comforting for a patient than a doctor's reassurance.

I smiled at him, "I'm not nervous. You're performing the surgery yourself. I naturally trust you."

A rare smile flickered across Samuel's eyes. "Rest well."

Then he turned and left.

*****

The day before surgery, starting from the afternoon, I had to fast. By midnight, I was starving and messaged him: [Dr. Stone, if I'm really hungry, can I drink water?]

Twenty minutes later, his reply arrived, a link to a piece of music, Goldberg Variations.

He added a message: [Listen and sleep. No water.]

I looked at the music and couldn't help but curl my lips into a small smile.

I put in my earphones, and the gentle melody filled my ears.

It was surprisingly hypnotic; before long, I drifted into a deep sleep. Hunger faded with the arrival of dreams.

Early the next morning, I was wheeled into the operating room.

On the table, Samuel once again left a lasting impression.

Dressed in blue sterile scrubs, only his eyes visible, he looked calm and confident.

"Relax," he said lightly. "Trust me."

I nodded and closed my eyes, slipping into complete darkness.

*****

When I opened them again, I was back in my hospital room.

A nurse came to check on me. Seeing that I had woken up, she smiled and messaged Samuel: [Dr. Stone, bed 15 patient is awake.]

Lowering the phone, she chuckled. "Dr. Stone is very attentive. He asked me to wait until you woke up to let him know."

I raised the corner of my lips to smile, but a sharp pain shot through my upper abdomen.

The pain shot through my nerves, leaving me momentarily speechless.

The nurse held out a thermometer. "Hold this for me," she said, then picked up her notebook to make some notes. "How does it feel?"

"It hurts," I forced out, and the words were accompanied by a cold sweat that broke out all over me.

"Hurt is normal. If it becomes unbearable, just tell me. I can give you stronger pain medication," she said.

I nodded. The nurse asked a few more questions before leaving the room.

It wasn't long before Samuel arrived.

When he saw me, he said, "The pathology results are in. They're pretty much what we expected—early stage. Nothing too serious."

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

He had told me before the surgery that early-stage stomach cancer meant a good prognosis, with a high recovery rate after surgery.

Seeing me struggling with pain, he frowned. "Doesn't anyone at home come to take care of you?"

I thought of my parents far away in Aoritland. Honestly, I didn't want to call them.

They were getting on in years. I hadn't even told them about my previous surgery. Now that this operation was over, if I called them, they'd worry and have to take care of me. I didn't want to trouble them.

I planned to call them after I had recovered and been discharged.

"If it really comes down to it, you could hire a caregiver. At your current state, you can't take care of yourself," Samuel said.

I asked weakly, "Is hiring a caregiver expensive?"

As soon as I asked, I felt a pang of guilt and let out a quiet sigh.

A single penny could crush a guy.

Life was like that. Sometimes one resolved to push forward with all one's strength, only to be broken by the very last straw before one even got a chance to try.

Samuel watched me for a moment before speaking. "Lucy, do you remember that you still owe me for your hospital fees?"

Of course, I remembered. Samuel had covered all my hospital costs before my surgery.

But I didn't understand why he was bringing it up now.

I widened my eyes slightly. "You want me to pay you back now? I can't. I don't have any money."

Perhaps he hadn't expected me to speak so frankly. Samuel couldn't help but chuckle, "I'm not asking for repayment. I'll find you a caregiver. We'll just roll the cost into what you owe me."

Then he turned and left.

I watched his back for a moment, feeling a bit dazed.

It hit me slowly. Samuel's care for me seemed almost excessive.

Or was it just that he was naturally kind, generous to all his patients?

But clearly, that seemed unlikely.