Chapter 2 · Too Late, Alonzo

Seeing the future Alonzo completely lose control in the live chat, I suddenly understood there was no point anymore.

Suddenly, I realized there was no point anymore.

Rather than accepting a final trace of warmth out of charity, I would rather let him spend the rest of his life suffocating in regret.

That would be my revenge.

"It's fine," I said softly, forcing a weak smile.

"Alonzo, don't turn around," I told him. Because if he did, the only thing waiting behind me was my grave.

The day we left the courthouse, rain poured from the sky.

Alonzo gripped the divorce papers as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

A black Porsche waited at the curb. The window slid down, revealing Phoebe's pale, fragile face.

"Is it finished?" she asked gently.

Her voice dissolved into the rain, sweet and soft.

Alonzo immediately opened his umbrella and hurried to her side, angling it carefully so not a single drop touched her.

"It's done. Why did you roll the window down? It's freezing," he said.

His tenderness could have melted the storm itself.

I stood on the courthouse steps, clutching the icy papers, watching their perfect little love story unfold.

The live chat erupted again.

Alonzo, aged 35, said: [Don't get in that car! Don't go with her!]

[She's still standing in the rain! Look at her face!]

[This is the last time you'll see her standing like this… please, just turn around.]

I had no umbrella.

I slid the divorce papers back into my bag, placing them carefully on top of the diagnosis.

Then I stepped into the rain.

Alonzo was about to enter the car when he suddenly hesitated, as if something invisible had brushed against his heart.

He turned around.

He saw me in the rain, struggling to flag down a taxi.

My hair clung to my cheeks, my clothes soaked through. I looked so thin, so fragile, like a ghost that could be blown away by the slightest wind.

He froze, but only for a second.

Then Phoebe coughed softly inside the car.

He looked away at once, got in, and shut the door.

The engine started. Dirty water splashed onto my legs.

Alonzo, aged 35, said: [I'm a monster! I'm a goddamn monster!]

[Why did I leave? Why did I just abandon her!]

[Amelia... I'm so sorry...]

I watched the car disappear into the rain as the blood-red comments dissolved with it.

I finally hailed a taxi.

"General Hospital," I said.

After checking in, I was assigned a room.

My attending physician was a man in his fifties, Dr. Arnav Russo.

He frowned when he saw me dragging my suitcase in alone.

"Where's your family? Why aren't they here yet?" he asked.

"I don't have any," I replied.

I lay down, every bone screaming in pain.

"Doctor, can you give me something for the pain? It hurts so much," I pleaded.

Arnav sighed. "Miss, I know chemo's tough, but there's still hope it could buy you some time..."

"No," I interrupted.

"I don't want any more treatment. I just want to spend whatever time I have left as comfortably as I can," I said.

Instead of lying in a hospital bed, covered in tubes, not really living, not really dead, just dragging out a couple more miserable months,

I'd rather go out with my head held high.

That night, I had a dream.

I dreamed about seven years ago, when Alonzo and I had just started dating.

Back then, he was just a broke student, and I was a fresh-out-of-college intern.

We shared a freezing basement room, barely big enough to breathe.

There was no heat in the winter, and it was so cold we couldn't even sleep.

Alonzo would pull me into his arms, warming me up with his own body heat.

"Amelia," he used to say, "one day I'll buy you a big house. You'll eat ice cream in winter wearing shorts."

And he really did make it big.

He really did buy that big, warm house.

But I wasn't the one living in that house.

I woke drenched in sweat, pain ripping through me.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone, wanting to text Alonzo.

But when I opened our chat, I saw we weren't even contacts anymore.

The last message was from him: [The house code is still the same. Come by and get your stuff when you have time.]

I stared at the notification, the sign that he had blocked me, and just laughed to myself, bitterly.

Then I powered off my phone and tossed it onto the nightstand.

I was jolted awake by a bunch of noise.

I opened my eyes to see two people in my hospital room: Alonzo and Phoebe.

Phoebe was wearing a hospital gown, an IV drip hooked to her arm, leaning against Alonzo, her face full of surprise as she looked at me.

"Amelia? What are you doing here?" Phoebe blinked at me.

Alonzo's expression soured the moment he saw me.

"Amelia, are you stalking me?" he snapped.

I stared at him, too tired to care.

"Mr. Gilmore, you really think the world revolves around you, huh?" I said, my voice flat. "This is a hospital, not your personal playground. If you can be here, so can I."

Alonzo scoffed, his expression icy. "Phoebe's stomach was acting up, so I brought her in. She got assigned to this VIP room," he said.

Chapter 2

Seeing the future Alonzo completely lose control in the live chat, I suddenly understood there was no point anymore.

Suddenly, I realized there was no point anymore.

Rather than accepting a final trace of warmth out of charity, I would rather let him spend the rest of his life suffocating in regret.

That would be my revenge.

"It's fine," I said softly, forcing a weak smile.

"Alonzo, don't turn around," I told him. Because if he did, the only thing waiting behind me was my grave.

The day we left the courthouse, rain poured from the sky.

Alonzo gripped the divorce papers as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

A black Porsche waited at the curb. The window slid down, revealing Phoebe's pale, fragile face.

"Is it finished?" she asked gently.

Her voice dissolved into the rain, sweet and soft.

Alonzo immediately opened his umbrella and hurried to her side, angling it carefully so not a single drop touched her.

"It's done. Why did you roll the window down? It's freezing," he said.

His tenderness could have melted the storm itself.

I stood on the courthouse steps, clutching the icy papers, watching their perfect little love story unfold.

The live chat erupted again.

Alonzo, aged 35, said: [Don't get in that car! Don't go with her!]

[She's still standing in the rain! Look at her face!]

[This is the last time you'll see her standing like this… please, just turn around.]

I had no umbrella.

I slid the divorce papers back into my bag, placing them carefully on top of the diagnosis.

Then I stepped into the rain.

Alonzo was about to enter the car when he suddenly hesitated, as if something invisible had brushed against his heart.

He turned around.

He saw me in the rain, struggling to flag down a taxi.

My hair clung to my cheeks, my clothes soaked through. I looked so thin, so fragile, like a ghost that could be blown away by the slightest wind.

He froze, but only for a second.

Then Phoebe coughed softly inside the car.

He looked away at once, got in, and shut the door.

The engine started. Dirty water splashed onto my legs.

Alonzo, aged 35, said: [I'm a monster! I'm a goddamn monster!]

[Why did I leave? Why did I just abandon her!]

[Amelia... I'm so sorry...]

I watched the car disappear into the rain as the blood-red comments dissolved with it.

I finally hailed a taxi.

"General Hospital," I said.

After checking in, I was assigned a room.

My attending physician was a man in his fifties, Dr. Arnav Russo.

He frowned when he saw me dragging my suitcase in alone.

"Where's your family? Why aren't they here yet?" he asked.

"I don't have any," I replied.

I lay down, every bone screaming in pain.

"Doctor, can you give me something for the pain? It hurts so much," I pleaded.

Arnav sighed. "Miss, I know chemo's tough, but there's still hope it could buy you some time..."

"No," I interrupted.

"I don't want any more treatment. I just want to spend whatever time I have left as comfortably as I can," I said.

Instead of lying in a hospital bed, covered in tubes, not really living, not really dead, just dragging out a couple more miserable months,

I'd rather go out with my head held high.

That night, I had a dream.

I dreamed about seven years ago, when Alonzo and I had just started dating.

Back then, he was just a broke student, and I was a fresh-out-of-college intern.

We shared a freezing basement room, barely big enough to breathe.

There was no heat in the winter, and it was so cold we couldn't even sleep.

Alonzo would pull me into his arms, warming me up with his own body heat.

"Amelia," he used to say, "one day I'll buy you a big house. You'll eat ice cream in winter wearing shorts."

And he really did make it big.

He really did buy that big, warm house.

But I wasn't the one living in that house.

I woke drenched in sweat, pain ripping through me.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone, wanting to text Alonzo.

But when I opened our chat, I saw we weren't even contacts anymore.

The last message was from him: [The house code is still the same. Come by and get your stuff when you have time.]

I stared at the notification, the sign that he had blocked me, and just laughed to myself, bitterly.

Then I powered off my phone and tossed it onto the nightstand.

I was jolted awake by a bunch of noise.

I opened my eyes to see two people in my hospital room: Alonzo and Phoebe.

Phoebe was wearing a hospital gown, an IV drip hooked to her arm, leaning against Alonzo, her face full of surprise as she looked at me.

"Amelia? What are you doing here?" Phoebe blinked at me.

Alonzo's expression soured the moment he saw me.

"Amelia, are you stalking me?" he snapped.

I stared at him, too tired to care.

"Mr. Gilmore, you really think the world revolves around you, huh?" I said, my voice flat. "This is a hospital, not your personal playground. If you can be here, so can I."

Alonzo scoffed, his expression icy. "Phoebe's stomach was acting up, so I brought her in. She got assigned to this VIP room," he said.