Ten years ago, I walked in on my wife, Isabelle, in an intimate moment with my adopted brother, Noah. Unable to process it, I flew into a rage, slapped them both hard, and smashed everything in the room. Faced with my fury, Isabelle offered no explanation. She just watched me break, her expression unnervingly calm. That same night, she had men tie me up and haul me off to prison. Before they took me away, she cooked a lavish meal for me, her voice soft and gentle. "Jacob, you really scared Noah yesterday. You need to go cool off for a few days. I'll comfort him, and once he's feeling better, I'll come get you." But "a few days" turned into ten years. When I was finally released, I found a small town and took a job as a waiter in a diner, living under a new name. Until I saw her again. My ex-wife, Isabelle. She was dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, her makeup flawless. She froze when she saw me, and then her eyes reddened as she grabbed my hand. "Jacob, you're out. Why didn't you tell me?" she choked out. "These past years... have you been okay?" I gave a bitter smile, touching my head through my worn cap. I had no hair left. A decade of torment had left me with terminal cancer. By my calculations, I had about a month left to live. ... I didn't answer her, just tugged the sleeves of my worn jacket down further, trying to hide the dense constellation of needle marks on my arms. Isabelle, unwilling to let it go, was about to speak again when my boss yelled from across the diner. "Owen! What are you dawdling for? Get over here and clear that table!" "Coming!" I called back, not daring to look at Isabelle again as I practically fled. In my peripheral vision, I saw her mouth open as if to call my name, but no sound came out. Later, I brought out her order. She had only ordered braised short ribs, a bowl of spicy lamb stew, and a bottle of wine. I frowned. She was allergic to fish and hated the smell of lamb, yet these were my two favorite dishes. It was a cruel irony, as stomach cancer had prevented me from eating them for years. I placed the dishes in front of her, my face a blank mask. "Ma'am, your order is complete. Please enjoy your meal." I turned to leave, but she grabbed my sleeve. "Jacob, this is all for you. Sit down. Have a drink with me, please?" I froze, the memory of her preparing my favorite foods just before sending me to hell for ten years flashing through my mind. Seeing my silence, she pressed on, her voice cracking. "I'm begging you. Just let me talk to you for a minute..." I sighed and finally sat down across from her. She poured me a glass of wine. "Jacob, I was supposed to pick you up the day you were released. I went to the prison, but I couldn't find you anywhere. I asked everyone for information, but they all said... they said you were dead." I didn't touch the wine or the food. "I'm not. Sorry to disappoint you, Isabelle." Her reaction was unexpectedly emotional. She leaned forward, her hands closing over mine. "Jacob, I know I wronged you. Please, come back with me. I'll make it up to you! In three days, it's your father's sixtieth birthday. Come home with me, and I'll explain everything for you." Ten years ago, just to appease my adopted brother Noah and to keep me from exposing their affair, Isabelle had fabricated evidence of me accepting bribes at the company. It landed me a ten-year prison sentence for a crime I didn't commit. My own parents, without asking a single question, disowned me on the spot, calling me a parasite on society. Her words brought all the pain and despair of those years rushing back. I fought to suppress the overwhelming anguish, but my body began to tremble uncontrollably. "Explain?" I rasped. "What is there to explain? Are you going to explain the disgusting things you and Noah were up to?" My voice, thick with emotion, was louder than I intended. The curious, gossiping eyes of the other diners turned toward us. I shot to my feet and walked away. I thought I would never see Isabelle again. After all, how much remorse could the person who sent me to hell truly feel? But the next morning, when I arrived for my shift, she was already there, waiting by the door. She rushed toward me, her eyes searching my face. "Jacob, you were a top-tier engineer. Are you really content to waste away in a small diner like this?" I laughed coldly. "But didn't you already destroy my life? Don't you feel sick saying this now?" My words struck a nerve. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and she opened her mouth to explain, but I walked past her and into the diner. Isabelle didn't leave. She ordered a single dish and a pot of tea and stayed for the entire day. I ignored her, carrying on with my work as usual. Just before my shift ended, a searing pain ripped through my stomach. A hot, metallic liquid surged up my throat. I staggered back, trying to stifle the agony, and accidentally knocked over a bottle of red wine on a customer's table. The wine drenched the man's shirt. He stared for a moment, and before I could even apologize, his hand cracked across my face. "What the hell, are you blind? This jacket is designer, you piece of trash! You think you can afford to replace it?" He grew more enraged, ignoring my apologies. He kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sprawling to the floor. Then, he picked up the wine bottle and poured the rest of it over my head. I couldn't hold it back any longer. A strangled gasp escaped me as I coughed up a mouthful of blood. The crimson liquid mixed with the red wine, staining my clothes in a sickening mess. Still not satisfied, the man raised his foot to kick me again, but someone shoved him aside. Isabelle stood over me, her eyes blazing with fury, shielding me with her body. "I dare anyone to touch him!" she roared. The man started to curse, but when he saw the feral look in her eyes, a flash of fear replaced his anger. He muttered a few more insults and quickly fled the diner. Isabelle knelt down, gently helping me up, her face etched with panic. "Jacob, all this blood..." I glanced down at the red stains on my shirt and stammered, "It's... it's just the wine." I pushed her away and ran. The next day, I quit my job. I had only been working to pay for my chemotherapy drugs anyway. Since I was going to die soon, there was no point in continuing. Besides, my greatest wish now was to get as far away from Isabelle and her world as possible. I wanted to die in peace. There were no formalities. I told my boss, collected my final paycheck, and left. As I walked out, I remembered my last medical report was still at the hospital. I decided to pick it up and buy some more painkillers. But just as I collected my report, I saw a familiar figure. My adopted brother, Noah. And with him were Isabelle and my own parents. Noah saw me first. He froze, his face a mask of disbelief. "Jacob? You're not dead?" My eyes fell to the bag in his hand. It was from the maternity ward. The name written on the label was Isabelle's. Only then did I notice the slight, but definite, swell of her stomach. Even after ten years, seeing them together like this felt like having a piece of my heart violently ripped out. A bitter laugh escaped me. "Still alive. Sorry to disappoint you." A dark look flashed across Noah's face, quickly replaced by a wounded expression. "Jacob, I know you hate me for marrying Isabelle. But you two were divorced, and you went to prison for what you did ten years ago. You couldn't expect her to wait for you forever..." Isabelle chimed in. "Mom and Dad are here. If you just apologize properly, I'm sure they'll forgive you. Tomorrow is Dad's birthday, after all." I scoffed. They were the ones who were wrong. Why should I be the one to apologize? "I have nothing to apologize for," I said sharply. "You know the truth about what happened ten years ago." At that moment, my parents noticed me. They looked much older. Not yet sixty, but their hair was almost completely white, their backs stooped. They stared at me, stunned. My mother was the first to speak, her brow furrowed in disapproval. "Why are you so thin? Are you on something? You were trouble ten years ago, and you didn't even come to us after you got out. You must have a guilty conscience!" I was floored. It took me a moment to understand what she was implying. Ten years, and this was her first reaction. Not concern, not a question about my health, but a suspicion that I was on drugs. This was the image they had of me. I laughed, a hollow, tear-filled sound. Seeing me laugh, my father's frown deepened. "Your mother's right. You don't look healthy." He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the hospital's lab. "You're coming with me for a drug test!" His voice was loud, drawing a crowd. In the struggle, he shoved me, and I fell, my head hitting the corner of a table. Blood trickled down my forehead. The sudden stress sent another wave of agony through my stomach, and a cold sweat soaked my clothes. Isabelle's voice cut through the haze, gentle but laced with concern. "Jacob, I didn't notice yesterday, but you really should... listen to your parents. Go get the test. It's not too late to get help." Noah added his fake concern. "Brother, I know you've been through a lot, but you can't keep making these mistakes!" Their condescending tones, their righteous certainty. Why? I had done nothing wrong. Why did I have to pay for their paranoid fantasies? My father tried to grab me again, but I pushed his hand away and struggled to my feet. "Fine. I'll go." I limped into the testing room. The results, of course, were negative. A flicker of embarrassment crossed my parents' faces, but there was no apology. My mother just glanced at me and said awkwardly, "Well, that's that. Come home. Tomorrow is your father's sixtieth birthday. Make sure you're there." I took a step back, putting distance between us. "You were right all those years ago. I'm not your son. We cut ties a long time ago. I won't be coming to the party. Happy birthday, Mr. Melling." I gave them a formal bow, and ignoring their curses and pleas, I turned and walked out of the hospital. On the morning of my father's sixtieth birthday, I woke up choking on blood. The pain was constant now, so intense that I could barely stand. I knew my condition was worsening rapidly. Every day was a new form of torture. I probably didn't even have a month left. After I had coughed up another mouthful of blood, Isabelle started pounding on my door. "Jacob, open up! It's me!" I didn't want to see her. "Isabelle," I said through the door, "you're a pregnant, married woman. It's not appropriate for you to be here, visiting your ex-husband." Her voice faltered. "Jacob, I know you hate me. We can talk about us later. But today is your father's birthday. You have to be there. We need to be a family and talk things through." I had no intention of going, but she called a locksmith and had him force the door open. Weakened by the cancer, I was powerless to stop her. She was insistent, practically dragging me into her car. In the car, she kept looking at me in the rearview mirror. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer. "Jacob, why are you so thin?" I ran a hand over the needle marks on my arm and smiled bitterly. "Terminal cancer. Would you believe me?" Isabelle stared, then burst out laughing. "Jacob, don't even joke about something like that. How could you have cancer? You must have been on some crazy diet. I always told you, a little meat on the bones looks good on a man. You shouldn't be so anxious about your body..." I didn't hear the rest of what she said. I just nodded. "Yeah, you're right. It was a joke. I don't have cancer. Just a stupid diet." We drove the rest of the way in silence. The party was already underway when we arrived. I kept my eyes down, standing off to the side, a silent shadow. My parents, in a tacit agreement, didn't introduce me to anyone. Instead, Noah played the part of the dutiful son, and Isabelle the perfect daughter-in-law, mingling with the guests. I was the odd one out. As the party was winding down, a swarm of reporters burst in, surrounding Noah. "Mr. Melling, is it true that your current wife was once your sister-in-law?" "How long has this inappropriate relationship been going on? Is it connected to your brother, Jacob Melling's, sudden criminal behavior?" Faced with the onslaught, Noah's eyes immediately reddened. Under the glare of the flashing cameras, he fell to his knees before me.
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