Chapter 3
"And you? Why are you even in the hospital? Don't tell me you're just pretending to be sick for sympathy," Alonzo said with a sneer.
His eyes were filled with disgust, like he was staring at a pile of trash.
The barrage of comments above my head was going wild, the red text flashing so bright it hurt my eyes.
Alonzo aged 35, said: [Shut up! Just shut up.]
[It's stomach cancer! It's late-stage.]
[That's just the chemo talking! Look how skinny she is.]
[How could you say something like that! Alonzo, I want to kill you.]
I stared at the barrage of live comments and suddenly felt a strong urge to laugh.
Future Alonzo was ready to strangle his present self.
This was one hell of a show.
"Yeah," I replied, playing along with him.
I just went with the flow, echoing his words.
I said, "I'm just faking being sick. Wanted to see if you'd ever soften up, Mr. Gilmore. Too bad you're cold as stone. Guess I was hoping for too much."
Alonzo actually laughed out of sheer annoyance, unable to hold back.
"Amelia, you're just beyond saving," he scoffed.
"If you like staying here so much, then suit yourself. Just don't come running to me when you can't pay the hospital bills."
With that, he supported Phoebe and was about to walk out.
Phoebe suddenly stopped and shot me a worried look.
"Amelia, if you're having any trouble, just let us know. Even though you and Alonzo are divorced, he still cares about you deep down," she said.
"We just got back from the doctor. He said it's just a bit of gastritis. I just need some rest," she said breezily.
"You're in a VIP suite, Amelia. You must not be that sick, right?" she threw in.
She was clearly insinuating that I was just wasting hospital resources, faking illness for attention.
Looking at her phony, hypocritical face, I suddenly felt disgusted.
"Get lost," I spat out the word without hesitation.
Phoebe flinched and clung to Alonzo, acting all scared.
"Alonzo, look how she's treating me..." she whimpered.
Alonzo was furious.
"Amelia! What the hell is your problem?" he snapped. "Apologize to Phoebe!"
I grabbed the water cup from beside my pillow and flung it hard in their direction.
"I told you to get out! Are you deaf or something?" I snapped.
The cup smashed against the floor at Alonzo's feet, glass bursting outward in every direction.
Several shards sliced across Phoebe's calf.
Phoebe cried out, tears instantly filling her eyes.
Alonzo completely lost it.
He rushed forward, seized my throat, and forced me down onto the hospital bed.
"Amelia! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he shouted.
His eyes burned red with fury. His fingers tightened so brutally that I truly believed he meant to strangle me.
Air vanished from my lungs.
As my vision blurred, I stared at his twisted expression, and strangely, I felt no fear.
Instead, a quiet sense of relief washed over me.
If I died like this, perhaps it wouldn't be the worst ending.
At least the pain would finally stop.
Above me, the live comments erupted into complete chaos.
[Let go of her!]
[You're killing her. She can't take this!]
[Don't touch her! Please, stop!]
[She's the one you love the most. What are you doing?]
Just as darkness began closing in, the door slammed open.
Arnav rushed in, followed closely by a nurse.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Let her go!" Arnav shouted.
Security guards poured in and dragged Alonzo away from me.
I collapsed against the bed, coughing violently, struggling to pull air back into my lungs.
My throat burned with pain.
Arnav was trembling with rage, pointing straight at Alonzo.
"Are you insane? You just assaulted a terminal cancer patient!" he yelled.
Silence fell over the room.
Alonzo froze mid-movement, his hand still adjusting his clothes.
Phoebe's sobbing stopped abruptly.
Alonzo slowly turned toward Arnav, his eyes hollow.
"What... did you say?" he asked hoarsely. "Terminal cancer?"
Arnav scoffed and shoved my medical file into his hands.
"Read it yourself. Late-stage gastric cancer. Metastatic. She doesn't even have months left, and you tried to choke her to death."
"Get out," I shouted. "All of you. Get out of my sight."
Alonzo's hands shook uncontrollably as he opened the file.
He flipped open to the first page.
My name, my age, and the diagnosis that hit like a punch to the gut. All of it jumped off the page at him.
The diagnosis was dated a month ago.
Back then, he had been hosting Phoebe's welcome-back party.
Back then, he had been forcing me to sign the divorce papers.
"No..." he whispered, his face drained of color.
"This can't be real... Amelia, you forged this, didn't you? You're lying to trick me, aren't you?"
He turned to me desperately, clinging to the last fragment of hope.
"Tell me it's fake," he begged. "You're just trying to make me feel guilty... trying to stop the divorce, right?"
I leaned back against the headboard, watching him drown in denial.
The live comments above my head had shifted.
Alonzo aged 35, said: [He knows now. He finally knows.]
[Too late... It's all too late.]
[What was I doing back then? I was out helping Phoebe pick her wedding dress.]
[Alonzo, you really deserve this.]
I ran my fingers over the bruises on my neck, my voice rough and broken.
"Alonzo." I said, barely more than a whisper, letting the name hang in the air. "Does it even matter if it's true or not? We're divorced now. Me living or dying. What's it got to do with you?"
Alonzo looked like he'd been struck by lightning, reeling backward in shock.
The medical file dropped from his hands, landing on the floor.