Chapter 1

Richard Davidson and I had been married for years, yet he couldn't even remember my birthday. When I called him, it wasn't his voice that answered. It was Rebecca Lynn, his childhood sweetheart.

I tightened my grip on the medical report in my hand—stomach cancer, terminal—and forced the words out. "Richard, I'm sick."

He sighed, clearly impatient, "What now? Don't be dramatic, Laura. And please, put on some makeup and dress properly for dinner."

At the family gathering, Richard's mother turned up her nose at the silk scarf I brought her, while Rebecca gave me that fake smile. "You don't look so well, Laura. Are you okay?" she asked sweetly.

I looked straight at Richard. "What if I told you I was dying? Would you believe me?"

He snorted, "Stop those childish games. Trying to guilt me into something again?"

It wasn't until I collapsed in the hotel room that reality finally hit him. The doctor stood at his side, holding the chart. "Mr. Davidson, your wife is in critical condition, late-stage stomach cancer. Do you want to authorize emergency treatment?"

Richard froze, staring at the pale, tube-covered woman on the bed—the wife he'd long stopped seeing. Then his knees gave out. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I'll believe whatever you say. Please, come back to me."

*****

I clutched that flimsy report so tightly in my hands. It was a miracle that it wasn't torn into shreds.

It showed late-stage stomach cancer.

The doctor's calm words still echoed in my mind, each syllable a frozen needle driving deep into my heart.

I couldn't even remember how I managed to stumble out of the hospital. The sun was blinding, and the streets were packed and roaring with life, but to me, it felt like I was sinking to the bottom of an icy ocean—utterly alone in a world gone silent.

My phone lit up with a message from Richard: [It's my mom's birthday today. Did you get her a present? Don't forget it.]

I stared at those words, my fingers cold as ice.

His mother had never once shown me a hint of warmth since the day I married into the Davidson family. She picked at everything I did, and when I miscarried our first child, she coldly blamed me for being unlucky, for failing to give her a grandchild.

Today was her birthday, and Richard remembered it clearly, even sending me this early reminder.

But yesterday was my twenty-sixth birthday.

He didn't even come home.

He only sent me a voice message late at night, slurring with drunken impatience. "You're not a kid anymore. Why are you even making a fuss about your birthday? Just go to bed."

I called him back, and it was Rebecca who picked up, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Laura, it's me. Richard had way too much to drink. I'm looking after him, so you just relax, okay?"

Relax?

I squeezed that flimsy diagnosis sheet so hard that it almost crumpled in my fist as my stomach twisted itself into knots with nausea.

With a shaky breath, I punched in Richard's number.

The phone rang for what felt like forever before he finally picked up, noisy voices and music clattering in the background.

"Yeah?" His tone was cold, completely emotionless.

"Richard," I said, my throat so dry that the words almost stuck. "There's something I need to tell..."

"And what could possibly be more important than my mom's birthday?" he snapped, cutting me off with that familiar impatience. "Did you get the present?"

"How many times do I have to spell it out? Mom only wants that limited-edition silk scarf. Don't just buy something cheap."

"And seriously, she can't stand it when you show up bare-faced. Put on your makeup, dress properly, and don't give her any reason to complain today."

Every word hit me like a whip, slicing into a heart that was already falling apart.

I closed my eyes for a moment, the hospital smell still clinging to me.

"Richard, I'm sick," I finally managed to say.

There was a brief silence on the other end before Richard finally replied, sounding completely unconcerned, "What, you think it's really that serious? Quit exaggerating."

"It's my mom's birthday. Whatever you've got going on, just put it aside for now. If you're honestly too sick, go get checked at a neighborhood clinic. Don't ruin the family dinner tonight."

He paused for a moment, like he suddenly remembered something, then added, "Oh, right, Rebecca's coming too. Make sure you're polite to her. Don't cause any trouble."

He hung up on me without another word.

The harsh beeping filled my ears, each one like the world itself laughing at my misery.

I stared at the old photo of us on my phone screen, our smiles once so sweet. Yet now, that face was nothing but a stranger, cold and distant.

It turned out that in his eyes, all my pain and heartbreak couldn't even compete with Rachel's birthday.

I glanced down at the wrinkled diagnosis report clenched in my hand and let out a helpless laugh.

So be it.

Let it end like this.