Chapter 3

After the doctor and nurse left, the ward fell silent.

Now and then, I'd catch glimpses of wives with their husbands by their side, and I was so jealous.

Two months ago, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer.

It felt like my whole world was falling apart. I called James, sobbing.

Emily picked up. "Claire, James is cooking for me. You know I have low blood sugar. He won't feel at ease until he watches me finish eating.

"He's not coming home to you tonight. If you have anything you want to tell him, I can pass it on."

My fingers went cold around the phone. My lips trembled, but I couldn't get a single word out.

Since James's mentor passed away and left Emily in his care, it felt like my husband was no longer mine.

Every evening, as soon as James got home from work, Emily would call him over to cook for her. If he didn't show up, she wouldn't eat.

When James made it home around 11 PM, he'd barely be there for half an hour before Emily would call again, saying she was too scared to sleep alone.

For the first month, I tried to be understanding.

By the second month, I stopped James in the wee hours again, as he was heading out after taking Emily's call. "James, don't go.

"Emily has grown up. Why can't she take care of herself?

"And you're married. It's only the two of you alone. How do you expect me to feel?"

I thought he would understand me, but James only stood there, staring at me for a long time. Then he pried my fingers off his waist one by one. "Claire, I have to go."

After that, we were always quarreling. Even when I refused to eat out of spite, it didn't make James spare me a second glance.

It wasn't until two months ago, when I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer, that I finally realized how foolish I'd been.

From that day on, I stopped hoping James would stay for me.

Even when he left in the middle of the night, I'd take the initiative to offer him his coat.

James finally smiled at me again. "Claire, you learned to be sensible at last."

He kissed my forehead. As I watched him walk away, I only felt like laughing.

I wasn't being sensible. I merely realized I needed to love myself more.

But I understood it too late. Now, I only had a month left to live.

*****

When I got home at night, James still wasn't back.

I opened my phone and saw a new post on Emily's Instagram. [My househusband is making me beef steak. Let's stay like this forever.]

In the photo, James was wearing an apron, his face lit up with a doting smile, the kind I hadn't seen in ages.

There were plenty of comments from mutual friends below.

[Now that Professor Lane's gone, James has learned how to take care of Emily.]

[You two are a perfect match.]

[You're like a married couple.]

As I read those teasing comments, my numb heart throbbed with pain again.

James replied quickly: [Emily is shy. Don't tease her like that.]

I stared at his profile picture, which was still our photo together, and slowly typed in the comments. [You two really look good together. Wish you happiness.]

After wiping away my tears, I set my phone down and went to take a shower.

When I came out, my phone was still buzzing. There were 18 missed calls, all from James.

Since he couldn't get through, he kept sending me voice messages. "Why are you joining in on their nonsense?"

Five minutes later, another one popped up. "Emily has locked herself in her room, crying because of your comment. She is afraid others will think she is a homewrecker.

"I've told you before. Emily and I are only like siblings, nothing more. Delete that comment, now."

Two minutes later, a new voice message from James came through. "Claire, Emily is refusing to eat, and her low blood sugar has flared up. If anything serious happens to her, I'll never forgive you!"

The latest one was sent just now. "Delete that comment and post a public apology saying you were throwing a fit. If not, forget about remarrying me."

Cold wind kept whistling in the background of James's voice message. Amid all the noise, I heard the vendor shouting from the bakery we used to visit often.

That shop was 30 miles from where we lived. It was pretty clear who James was driving out there for in the middle of the night.

I slowly typed: [Then we won't get back together. The car and the apartment should be mine.]