After my terminal cancer diagnosis. In the hospital room, the weather was beautiful one day. For once, I took the time to put on some makeup. I snapped a close-up selfie. "Do I look pretty today?" Many strangers left likes and kind comments. Then, Liam Kensington's younger sister jumped into the comment section. "Ugly as hell. Did you really think putting on makeup would make my brother change his mind? You don't deserve him." After a while, I replied anyway. "I don't need him to change his mind." 1 The attending physician let out a heavy sigh. "Where is your family?" I shook my head. "I don't have any family." "None? How is that possible?" "They're very busy. They don't have time to worry about me. Doctor, I'm heading back to my room." Leaving the doctor sighing heavily behind me, I returned to the ward. The older woman in the bed next to mine—Martha—kindly checked on me. "How did it go, honey? Any improvement?" I shook my head. "It's getting worse." But I wasn't too sad about it. Martha and the family member of the patient by the window both froze. I could see the pity welling up in their eyes. It was almost time for dinner. Suddenly, I didn't want to eat the cafeteria food today. The man Martha was caring for—her husband—also complained that the hospital food was bland. I pulled two fifty-dollar bills from my wallet. "Martha, when you go home to cook later, could you buy some extra beef? I'd really love some homemade beef stew." She was stunned for a second. "Okay. I'll make a massive pot of it today. Don't buy anything from the cafeteria, honey. I'll make enough for all of us to share." Martha went home to cook. 2 By noon, our hospital room was filled with the rich, savory aroma of beef stew and carrots. The meat was braised until it was meltingly tender. As I ate, tears began to drop silently into my bowl. I simply raised the bowl higher to hide my face. "Slow down, there's plenty more. I brought the whole slow cooker," Martha said gently. I didn't lower my bowl until my eyes were completely dry. In the end, I didn't have a second serving. In my memories, whenever I refused to eat as a little girl, my mom would make me beef stew. The carrots my mom picked out were always incredibly sweet. Since she passed away, I had never tasted anything like it again. Today, Martha's cooking brought back a flavor I hadn't experienced in years. She refused to take the hundred dollars. So, I used a delivery app to order a huge basket of fresh fruit for the room, sharing it with everyone. Our room was unofficially known as the "Death Ward." All three of us had been diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. While massaging her husband's legs, Martha suddenly sighed. "Honey, you should ask for a room transfer." I looked at her, confused. "That bed of yours... it's bad luck. The last person..." I understood. The last person in this bed didn't leave the hospital alive. I heard she was a successful female executive in her early thirties. I shook my head. "I don't believe in superstitions." Actually, there were VIP suites available, and the doctor had recommended one to me. But I had gone to look at them. They had every amenity you could ask for, but the private rooms were too cold and desolate. I preferred this shared room. Living here, I could listen to people chat every day. It felt grounded, full of ordinary, everyday life. After guarding an empty, massive estate for three years, I was thoroughly sick of the loneliness. I yearned for the warmth of human connection. 3 When Liam Kensington called, I was sleeping. "You're not home?" I opened my eyes, my voice thick with sleep. "Yeah," I replied flatly. "I brought Seraphina over. Don't cause trouble for her." I didn't argue. I just said, "Okay." "You're agreeing that easily this time?" "Is there anything else? If not, I'm hanging up." "Hanging up?" he scoffed. "Evelyn Monroe, if you try to play nice to my face and stab her in the back again, I swear I won't let you get away with it." I didn't bother listening to the rest. I hung up. I stared at the muted TV screen. Seraphina was Liam's mistress. A woman he kept on the side. She was presented to him at a corporate gala. In the past, there had been similar setups, but Liam had never taken the bait. Yet, Seraphina—with her elegant, Southern-belle charm—succeeded. Rumor had it she performed a captivating contemporary ballet routine at the charity ball, winning over everyone in the room. And she successfully climbed into Liam's bed. I didn't understand. Why? Liam hadn't even been drinking that night. How did they just end up together? Since I was a kid, people always told me I was a bit slow to catch on. Before all this, I never once doubted Liam's love for me. We were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. When we were just kids, he promised he would marry me. By the time I found out he had been keeping Seraphina for a while, I was trembling. Disbelieving. It felt like my entire world had collapsed. I threw fits. I screamed. We fought. But the more I fought, the more impatient and disgusted his gazes became. Eventually, he gave all his gentleness to Seraphina. I thought maybe I was just getting old. But I was only twenty-six. Liam forbade me from seeing Seraphina. He didn't even allow the staff to mention her name around me. But eventually, I did see her. And after that meeting, Seraphina had a miscarriage. Word was, it had been a baby boy. Liam was the first to slap me. Then, his mother, Mrs. Kensington, slapped me ten times across the face. Even though I swore I didn't do it, not a single person believed me. If this were the medieval era, I would have been banished to the dungeon. After that, I was never invited to the Kensington family dinners again. I was left entirely alone in a massive, empty estate. Liam never came home. During those cold, lonely days, I would occasionally dream. I dreamed of my late parents. I dreamed of when Liam and I were young, of the sunny afternoon we first met. He had said, "Evelyn Monroe. Your name sounds really pretty." I would wake up with my face soaked in tears. I'd slowly pull back the curtains and waste another day away. At first, I couldn't handle it. I demanded a divorce. I wanted to move to Europe and start a new life. But facing the massive corporate assets my family still held, the Kensington family refused to agree to the divorce. They ignored my legal papers. They just dragged it out, draining my youth. To them, giving me a house and a monthly allowance was a microscopic price to pay to keep me trapped. 4 Suddenly, there was a commotion out in the hallway. I poked my head out. "What's going on?" Martha hurried in, shaking her head. "Don't look." A chorus of wailing erupted outside. A bed covered with a white sheet was wheeled past, surrounded by weeping family members. I froze. I became even quieter after that. It felt like someone left this ward every few days. Sometimes, two bodies were taken away in a single day. Just yesterday, this floor felt wrapped in a mundane, peaceful sort of happiness. So many people had come to ask for a bowl of Martha's beef stew. There was laughter in the halls. Martha sighed as she wiped down the bedside table. "Thanksgiving is right around the corner. That family just wanted to hold on until the holidays. The universe is too cruel." At that thought, Martha looked at her husband in the hospital bed. She turned away and wiped her eyes. When she turned back around, she was smiling again. "For Thanksgiving, what kind of pie does everyone want? I'll go home and bake." The older woman caring for the patient next door waved her hand. "You're tired enough every day. Don't wear yourself out." "It's no trouble, it makes me happy! And whoever eats a slice of my pie has to promise to live to be a hundred." The room fell silent. Everyone lowered their heads. Her husband reached out and squeezed her hand. "You silly old woman." 5 Thanksgiving arrived in the blink of an eye. Martha handed me a slice of homemade pumpkin pie. I unwrapped the foil. We were all eating in the room. But everyone was only taking tiny, hesitant bites. First, we had no appetite. Second, we had no energy. We were just going through the motions for the holiday. Finally, I couldn't hold back my tears. "Mom, don't give me pie, I don't like it." "Pie means the family is together, sweetie. Even if you don't like it, you have to eat a little piece." In my memory, my mom gently tapped my nose. I was so small back then. I took a massive bite of the pie. I filled my cheeks, chewed slowly, and forced it down. But then I choked. On the TV, they were broadcasting the Kensington family's holiday gala. There was a massive dining table covered in an opulent, Michelin-star Thanksgiving feast. I bit my lip. In the center of the frame were Mr. and Mrs. Kensington. Next to them was Liam. The woman beside him in the elegant silk dress didn't show her face; the camera only caught her pale, delicate wrist resting on the table. The left side of the screen stopped there. But on the right side, all the uncles, cousins, and relatives were shown clearly. I turned my head, my mouth full of pie, and looked out the window. In past years, the Kensington family events were always grand and strictly adhered to old-money rules. I never expected them to invite the media this time. The woman next to him was Seraphina. 6 Later on, I saw paparazzi photos of Liam and Seraphina floating around online multiple times. However, none of them ever captured Seraphina's full face. Just a side profile. Or a silhouette from behind. It sparked a massive discussion online. "Who is the woman next to Liam Kensington?" "Is he keeping a mistress?" "Don't talk nonsense, you can't even see her face. It might be his wife." "If it's his wife, why hide her face? Plus, her silhouette doesn't match Evelyn Monroe. This woman is a bit curvier." "Men always prefer that type." "Insider gossip: It's definitely not his wife. But Liam has already brought her home to meet the parents." "Meet the parents? Then what about the actual Mrs. Kensington?" "Who knows? But come to think of it, no one has seen Evelyn Monroe in the media for years." I put down my phone. I raised my arm, looking at the limb that was now practically skin and bones. The doctor said I had to shave my head. I pressed my lips together in silence. I contacted my lawyer. Then, I asked the doctor for permission to go home for a few hours. From the taxi, I dialed Liam's number. We hadn't seen each other in six months. He sounded even colder than before. "What do you want?" "I'm coming home. We need to talk." He paused. "You're at the house?" "Yeah. Almost there." "I'm in a meeting. I can't leave." "I'll wait." With that, I hung up. 7 I ended up waiting for four hours. Thankfully, the autumn air was incredibly crisp. I lingered outside, sometimes sitting on the porch steps, sometimes walking among the fallen golden leaves on the driveway. Autumn had arrived. Everything felt bleaker. I looked back at the massive estate. Even the house looked desolate. Liam's car pulled into the driveway, sweeping up a cloud of dry leaves. He stepped out, looking at me sitting on the steps, and frowned. "Why are you sitting out here? Why didn't you go inside?" I shook my head. "Forgot my key." "Forgot it? More like you lost it while you were out messing around." He turned back, grabbed his keys from the car, and unlocked the front door. As the door opened, a strong, musty smell hit us. He coughed. "Ugh." His handsome face immediately darkened with anger. I stopped him. "Liam, let's not go inside. Let's just talk out here." In the past, our fights had reached the ugliest extremes, but now, it just felt completely unnecessary. He turned around. His face wore a dark, confused expression. "Talk about what?" I unzipped my puffy jacket and pulled out a stack of documents. "Marry Seraphina. Let's get a divorce." He froze, looking at me in sheer disbelief. But then, the anger flared up again. "This time, I don't want anything. I'm walking away with nothing." His rising fury instantly morphed back into shock. If I could do it all over again, I would have asked for nothing from the very beginning. Just to fight him, I had traded my life. I trapped myself in this miserable marriage just to prove a point, demanding my 5% of the shares. Fighting for the youth I felt had been stolen. But in the end, what did I actually get? He clenched his fists. "Evelyn Monroe, what crazy game are you playing now?" We stood in silence. He didn't take the papers. I stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and slapped the divorce agreement onto his palm. I looked up. A golden leaf fell between us. I turned around and walked down the steps. I paused for a second. "I'm leaving. Do whatever you want with this place." With that, I walked away, accompanied only by the drifting autumn leaves. "Evelyn..." Someone seemed to call my name. But I didn't want to answer. 8 It was almost time to shave my head. I couldn't bear to part with my hair. The next day, the hospital barber suddenly had a family emergency and couldn't make it. I had time to properly document myself one last time. I set up a small tray table on my bed and dumped out the bottles and compacts from my makeup bag. "You're doing your makeup?" a young nurse asked, frowning. Another nurse quickly pulled her out of the room. That day, my makeup session drew a crowd of patients and their families. They didn't look at me like I was a freak. They looked at me with encouragement. They told me I looked beautiful, that they had never seen a patient look so pretty. I smiled. "Believe it or not, I was Prom Queen once." They nodded emphatically. Eventually, I was too exhausted to finish. I quickly curled my eyelashes and snapped a photo. Several patients came over to take group pictures, and I happily obliged. Finally, I picked a solo selfie and posted it to my social media account. #Do I look pretty today?# Suddenly, my notifications exploded with likes. It turned out another patient in the ward had shared my post with their network of survivor groups. "Gorgeous! Literally an angel." "So pretty, especially your eyes. So big and round." "I think her nose is the best feature. Perfect profile." "Just one feature? Her whole face is beautiful! Oh my god, the prettiest girl on the internet." I pressed my lips together. Their kindness deeply moved me. Suddenly, a comment with a verified yellow badge popped up. "Ugly as hell. Do you think putting on some makeup will make my brother change his mind?" "You don't deserve him." The profile picture was a girl in a pink hoodie, showing her side profile. It was Madison Kensington. She had never liked me. Some patients replied to her, telling her to have some basic decency. She fought back viciously in the replies. After a long silence, I picked up my phone. I replied to Madison. "I don't need him to change his mind." Then, I deleted the entire post.
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