Chapter 3
The call ended. Julia dropped her phone onto the bed and slowly lay back.
There was a crack in the ceiling, stretching from the light all the way to the corner of the room.
She stared at the crack for what felt like ages.
For three years, she'd been a good wife of Castiel.
She'd learned to cook, run the house, smile politely at parties, and keep quiet whenever Castiel gave her that cold look.
She had no friends, never dared to go out or socialize, afraid she'd embarrass the Patrick family.
She'd given up her job, shrank into the big Patrick residence, becoming nothing but a shadow.
Now, the shadow wasn't wanted anymore.
The one Castiel always loved had come back, so it was time for the shadow to disappear.
At two in the morning, Julia was jolted awake by a sharp pain in her stomach.
It was worse than ever before.
She scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet and retching for a long time, but nothing came up.
Finally, she spat a bit of phlegm into her palm and glanced down.
It was streaked with dark red blood, mingled with her saliva.
She stared at that bit of red in her palm, her fingers trembling.
Early the next morning, she stuck a sticky note on the fridge.
On it, she wrote out Castiel's schedule for the day: board meeting at ten; project meeting at three.
For three years, it had been her habit to remind him of his schedule. She wasn't sure if he ever looked at it, but she kept doing it every single day.
After putting up the sticky note, she slipped on a jacket, picked up her bag, and stepped outside.
In the flower bed by the door, there were roses she'd planted last fall.
Now they were in full bloom, a lively splash of red.
Julia squatted down to admire them for a moment, then stood up and headed for the street corner.
She was the only one at the bus stop.
She searched for the best hospital nearby on her phone and made an appointment with a stomach doctor.
Her finger hovered over the confirm button for a few seconds.
As she finally pressed it, a fresh wave of nausea rolled through her again.
She bent over, clutching the pole at the bus stop for support.
Her mouth was full of that rusty, bloody tang.
*****
The stomach doctor was on the third floor of the hospital.
Julia sat on a plastic chair in the hallway for two hours, waiting for her number to be called.
She got a camera put down her throat.
Tears kept streaming down her face, not because of the pain. Getting a camera put down her throat was rough, but she could take it. It was the doctor's face when he looked at the results afterward.
"Is your family here?" the doctor asked.
"No, I'm here alone," Julia replied.
"You're here alone?"
"Yeah."
The doctor was silent for a few seconds. "There's a growth in the lower part of your stomach. From the initial tests, it looks like early-stage stomach cancer.
"You should get admitted as soon as possible for more tests and to see if you need surgery."
Julia sat on the stool across from the doctor's desk, clutching her medical records.
Early-stage stomach cancer.
She'd studied some basic medical facts back in school.
Early-stage meant there was still hope.
But when the word "cancer" became her reality, all her reason fell apart.
"You need to act fast," the doctor said, his tone firm. "The sooner you start treatment, the better your chances."
Julia nodded, barely managing a "thank you."
When she walked out of the doctor's office, her legs felt like jelly.
She sank into a chair in the hallway.
All around her were people: elderly folks, children, and middle-aged people supporting their loved ones.
Everyone had someone by their side.
She was the only one alone.
Julia looked down, carefully folded the diagnosis report, and slipped it into the innermost compartment of her bag.
At this moment, her phone screen lit up.
It was a message from Castiel. [There's a charity dinner tonight. You don't need to go.]
She kept staring at the message for a long time.
The charity dinner was scheduled a month ago. The Patrick family attended every year, and as Castiel's wife, she was always there.
Not this year, however. Because this time, he was taking Denise.
Julia locked her phone and slipped it back into her bag.
She stayed at the hospital until four in the afternoon, then got up and returned to the Patrick residence.
No one was in the kitchen.
The sticky note she'd left in the morning was gone.
It wasn't Castiel who took it down. He never came into the kitchen. It was Denise.
The sticky note had been ripped in half and thrown in the trash.
Julia looked at the trash can, saw the torn sticky note inside, and said nothing.