I was at Ethan’s beck and call for six years. I was there whenever he needed me, and I left whenever he told me to. While he was wrapping his arm around another woman’s to drink a toast, I was at the hospital being diagnosed with leukemia. I had three months left to live. Later, he knelt by my hospital bed, crying and begging me to accept a bone marrow transplant. It was hilarious. I never had any intention of living. 1 The moment I got the official diagnosis from the hospital, I called Ethan. Over and over again. No one answered. The doctor’s words still echoed in my ears: "It's leukemia. You need to be admitted immediately. If we aggressively pursue treatment, there is still hope..." I leaned back in the chair, my face blank. "If I don't get treatment, how long do I have?" "You're so young, why wouldn't you want treatment..." "How long?" The doctor looked at me like I was insane. After a long pause, he finally said, "At most... three months." I gave a grateful smile. "Thank you." Three months. That was enough. I had barely stepped out of the hospital doors when my phone rang. The caller ID said "Ethan," but when I answered, it wasn't his voice. "Hey, Emma, Ethan is wasted. You need to come get him!" Ethan was drinking? My heart instantly seized. "How could you let him drink?!" That could literally kill him! His friend Mike mumbled some excuses, but over the background noise, I heard a woman’s voice. Mia. Ethan’s first love. The one who got away. I almost forgot. Today was the day Mia moved back to the States. The private room at the bar was packed. A group of people crowded together, craning their necks and cheering. Ethan, the star of the night, had his head tilted back, his arm intertwined with Mia’s as they drank a toast. The expression on his face was one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction—a look I had never seen directed at me. Amidst the cheering, I pushed the door open. Only Mike called out, "Emma." The rest of them just looked at me like they were watching a sideshow. It was pathetic, really. After being by Ethan’s side for all these years, I had never managed to break into his inner circle. It seemed that in their eyes, only a "goddess" like Mia was worthy of him. Mia turned her head, saw me, and gave a completely unbothered smile. "Emma, you're here..." Smack! Before she could finish her sentence, I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. Mia clutched her cheek, staring at me in sheer disbelief. The cheering stopped abruptly. The room descended into a dead silence. "Mia, maybe others don't know, but are you seriously telling me you don't? You know exactly what his condition is! Can he drink?!" I demanded, my voice sharp. But the next second, a harsh slap landed on my left cheek, knocking my head to the side. It was Ethan. He stepped in front of Mia, his eyes fierce enough to eat me alive. "Emma, have you lost your mind? What gives you the right to hit Mia?" The right? I took a deep breath, trying hard to swallow the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. Ethan must have forgotten. When he had his heart transplant, I was the one who stayed awake for days by his side. Meanwhile, Mia, fully aware of the massive risks of his surgery, resolutely packed her bags and moved across the country to chase her dreams. And now, I'm the one who doesn't have the right? "Ethan, all these years I've catered to you, protected you, terrified that you'd make a single mistake..." My throat felt so tight I could barely speak. "Because I firmly believed that one day, I would warm that fragile heart of yours." "But now, I realize I was wrong." "You don't have a heart at all." I closed my eyes, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over me. "Ethan, we're done." I pulled off our matching promise ring and set it down in front of him. "You're free." A wave of dizziness hit me. I stumbled out of the bar. Using the last ounce of my strength, I hailed a cab and fell into the back seat. In the window glass, I saw my own wretched reflection. I covered my nose. Blood was seeping through my fingers, trailing down my hand. I looked like a ghost. I stared at the window and forced a bitter smile. Emma, you're hilarious. You still have the energy to worry about Ethan's heart failing because of alcohol. When the one who's actually dying... Is you. 2 As soon as I got back to the apartment I shared with Ethan, my phone started ringing incessantly, like a grim reaper knocking at the door. Through the receiver, Ethan’s furious roar pierced my eardrums. "Emma, I don't care where you are, get your ass to the hospital right now. Half of Mia's face is swollen because of you. Get over here and apologize to her..." He was sick. I hung up, blocked his number, and deleted his contact in one smooth motion. My nose wouldn't stop bleeding. I leaned over the bathroom sink, unable to wash it away no matter how much water I splashed on my face. The person in the mirror was emaciated, her cheekbones jutting out, with deep, dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a literal corpse. Mia just had a swollen cheek, but blood was dripping from the corner of my mouth. Ethan's slap had truly held nothing back. I pulled out a suitcase and started packing my things. But looking around the entire apartment, there was barely anything I actually wanted to take with me. In the end, I chose three things and shoved them into the suitcase. A photo album, a notebook, and a small, worn lucky charm. I casually flipped open the notebook. It was densely packed with precautions and reminders. More detailed than any notes I took in college. Diet Section: "Less high-sodium food, it increases the burden on the heart!" "Avoid spicy and stimulating foods; they cause rapid heartbeat and erratic blood vessel constriction, which is bad for heart disease control!" "Avoid drinking large amounts of alcohol or soup!" "Hard-to-digest foods can trigger heart problems!!" Clothing Section: ... It was a thick notebook, detailing every minor aspect of his life. Not many people knew Ethan had a heart condition. He didn't take it seriously himself. But I was neurotic about it, constantly terrified of losing him. I absolutely forbade him from touching greasy or fried foods. I made sure he added layers when it got cold. I wouldn't let him lounge on the sofa for too long. I made sure he got appropriate exercise, walking six thousand steps every day... I had kept him incredibly healthy for the past six years. Healthy enough that he could now link arms and drink toasts with someone else. I left the notebook on the living room coffee table, right where he couldn't miss it. I took an Uber to the older, industrial side of the city. Six years ago, I bought a small house here. It was isolated, but the selling point was the quiet. In the front yard stood a massive, towering oak tree that blocked out half the sky. Inside, the walls were covered with photos. I sat there in a daze, staring at them for a long time. Then, I took the photos I brought with me and stuck them one by one into the empty spaces. The seagulls over the bay in San Francisco, looking like a massive cloud blocking out the sun; the sky in Montana, dipping so low it felt like you could touch it; the water in Lake Tahoe, so deep and green it made you dizzy just looking at it. We had good times. The year we went to that historic town in the South, we held hands and wandered through the winding, cobblestone alleys. There were many older women in the alleys offering to braid hair with colorful threads. I sat on a small stool while a woman wove the bright threads into my hair, constantly complimenting my looks. Ethan thought it was amusing and insisted on trying it too. So, I ended up with a few crooked, colorful braids in my hair. When we got back to the Airbnb that night, we found out those specific braids shouldn't just be worn casually; they were a local superstition associated with mourning a spouse. He didn't care at all, even teasing me: "What, are you afraid I'm going to die?" Don't say that, it's bad luck. I cried and threw a fit, insisting he take them out. He couldn't win the argument, so we stayed up until the middle of the night undoing them together. Later, I got impatient, grabbed a pair of scissors, and just snipped them all off. My hair looked worse than if a dog had chewed on it. The next day, who knows where he found it, but he brought me a cute beanie to cover it up. I have to admit, it looked pretty good. The day we went to the mountains in Colorado, it happened to be pouring rain. The mountain was just a blur of fog; we couldn't see a thing. Seeing that I was upset, he comforted me: "No big deal, we'll come back next year." But there was no next year. He got busier and busier. Sometimes he would work overtime until one or two in the morning. I couldn't sleep. Always worried his heart couldn't handle the late nights, I would sit under the streetlight by the front door and wait for him. There were a lot of mosquitoes in the summer. My legs would get covered in bites, forcing me to hop around in place. But the moment I heard a car honk, I would instantly jump up, running toward him while calling his name loudly. "Ethan! Ethan!" ... 3 The shrill ringtone of my phone shattered my dream. My head suddenly pounded with a vicious intensity, and my stomach churned as if a giant hand were twisting my internal organs. I curled into a tight ball. Enduring the pain, I fumbled for the phone under my pillow and answered it. "Emma, where's my medication?" Ethan’s cold voice came through. I replied instinctively: "First drawer of the nightstand. It's cold today, wear something thick. The thermal undershirt is in..." I opened my eyes. A damp, stained ceiling met my gaze. Something clicked in my foggy brain. I pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. It was an unknown number. I knew it. I remembered blocking him. "Ethan, we're over." My tone turned icy. He sounded exasperated. "Then come get your crap! I'm sick of looking at it!" He probably wanted me to move it so he wouldn't be annoyed when Mia moved in. I hugged my hot water bottle tighter. "Throw it away. I don't want it." He clearly didn't expect me to say that. He was silent for a long moment, then let out a cold scoff. "Emma, name your price. Otherwise, I won't feel right about this breakup." I clenched my jaw, waiting for the wave of pain to recede before speaking slowly. "I don't want anything." I don't want your things. I don't want your money. And I don't want you. Before he could react, I hung up the phone. As early as six years ago, Ethan had labeled me a "gold digger." Back then, he had a sudden heart attack. He was in the hospital, covered in tubes, but his attitude was explosive. To everyone who approached, he had one word: "Get lost!" The private nurses they hired quit one after another. Four of them in total. I was the fifth. He had a terrible temper. If he got slightly annoyed, he'd throw things. The young nurses were terrified of him. I was the only one who wouldn't leave, no matter how much he hit or cursed me. One time, he suddenly threw a tantrum and slapped the bowl of hot oatmeal out of my hands. The thick, scalding liquid splattered onto the back of my hand, instantly turning the skin a bright, angry red. But I didn't care about the pain. I was only worried about him. "Are you feeling uncomfortable? Let me go get the doctor, okay?" His Adam's apple bobbed. He turned his face away. "Why didn't you dodge?" "If I dodge, who's going to take care of you?" "Stop pretending, Emma. Don't think I don't know. You're only doing this for the money." Yes, I was doing it for the money. As long as he was okay, he could say I was doing it for whatever he wanted. Ethan probably didn't know, but I always loved to carefully press my ear to his chest while he was sleeping, just to listen to his heartbeat. "Ethan," I would call him affectionately. Hearing the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat, feeling that he was still alive—that made me happier than anything else. In contrast to Ethan's indifference, his parents actually really liked me. Once, Ethan's mom teased, "Emma, you're just too lovable. It would be a blessing if our Ethan could marry a girl like you." I just smiled shyly. Ethan, meanwhile, glared at me darkly from the side. I knew Ethan didn't like me. He had a "one that got away" in his heart. I never expected that one day I would actually walk by his side and become his girlfriend. I just wanted, purely and simply, to protect him. That was all. The turning point came during a business trip I took to the West Coast. I heard there was a temple nearby where a master blessed amulets, and they were supposedly incredibly potent. I hiked up that mountain trail several times, finally managing to get one for Ethan. Because of it, I have a scar on my forehead. When I gave it to Ethan that day, his eyes instantly turned red. It looked like he was moved by my gesture. But I knew that a photo was spreading like wildfire in his college group chat. It was Mia, dating a blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy abroad. The two of them were aggressively making out in the middle of the street. Rumor had it they were getting married soon. Ethan was acting a bit unhinged that day. He asked me over and over again: "Emma, are you willing to be with me?" My throat was dry. I nodded over and over. "Of course." When it came to him, I never hesitated. But in the six years we were together, he never once said he loved me. Not long after Ethan and I moved in together, I asked him for fifty thousand dollars. I bought this little house. I asked him for the money, and he never once questioned what it was for. But the disdain that flashed in his eyes was heartbreaking. In his eyes, I was probably incredibly ugly. 4 I stayed cooped up in the house for half a month. At first, clinging to those beautiful memories, the days weren't too hard. But gradually, I started experiencing frequent fevers and dizziness. My hair was falling out in clumps. Not to mention the agonizing, needle-like pain that wracked my entire body, torturing me until I wished for death. Painkillers became my only salvation. I went from three pills a day, to six, to twelve... Half a month later, Ethan found me. I was sitting in a tiny, rundown diner, having ordered a few home-style dishes. I didn't actually have much of an appetite. I just felt this particular diner had a special meaning. Outside the window, a black SUV pulled up to the curb. Someone sat down across from me. "I knew you were here." I looked up and locked eyes with Ethan. "How did you get so thin?" My hand holding the chopsticks trembled. I didn't say anything. "How long are you going to hide from me?" Seeing that I wasn't responding, he raised his voice, drawing the attention of everyone around us. "Let's just forget about what happened. Come back with me today, and I won't hold it against you." I slammed my chopsticks down, completely losing my appetite. Leaving cash on the table, I stood up and walked out of the diner. But before I could take more than a few steps, Ethan grabbed my wrist. He was furious. "Emma, there's a limit to throwing a tantrum!" I stumbled, almost falling. My vision went black for a second. People and objects looked pixelated, blurring instantly. But even so, I forced myself to violently shake off his hand. "Ethan, how many times do I have to tell you? We're over." I pointed toward the black SUV, where the rear window had rolled down to reveal a woman. "You already have Mia. Please, don't ever bother me again, okay?" Maybe it was because there was a hint of pleading in my tone, but Ethan's expression faltered. He looked at me quietly, as if trying to discern whether I was telling the truth or lying. How laughable. From the moment the grim reaper declared I only had three months left, I made my decision. For my final moments, I just want to be quiet, alone. No one has the right to pop up and mess with my emotions. Ethan? He doesn't deserve it. "Ethan." Mia hadn't stepped out of the car; only half of her pale, beautiful face was visible. Through the car window, she called out his name from a distance. Ethan left. Watching the car speed away, I felt a twinge of irony. So, Ethan does know how to be obedient. It just depends on who's giving the orders. That night, I took a cab to the city hospital, hoping to get a refill on my painkillers. "Emma." I turned around and saw Dr. Bell. Ethan's primary cardiologist. Back when Ethan's condition was unstable, I used to see him constantly. I could rattle off complicated medication names without skipping a beat. He used to tease me: "Relax. You're more stressed out than Ethan is." Right now, I was bundled up like a mummy, with my hat pulled low over my eyes, but he still recognized me instantly. "Long time no see. Do you have a minute to talk?" I felt too awkward to refuse. As soon as we sat down, he got straight to the point: "What's going on with you and Ethan lately?" "Nothing. We're adults. It wasn't working out, so we ended it." Maybe my tone was a bit harsh. He looked at me, choosing his words carefully for a long time before speaking: "I'm not trying to be a peacemaker. But Ethan has been acting out lately, and his mother is very worried." As he spoke, he handed his phone to me. It was Ethan's Instagram feed. The newest post was a photo of him and Mia at Disneyland. Behind them was a towering drop ride, and in the distance, the silhouette of a roller coaster. A stuffed Duffy Bear sat between him and Mia, their faces glowing with happy, adorable smiles. The caption read: Trying something thrilling. I couldn't help but clench my fists. He was literally risking his life. "You're the person who understands him best. Couldn't you try to talk some sense into..." "Dr. Bell," I interrupted him, typing Mia's phone number into his phone. "From now on, if anything comes up with Ethan, call her." "She's the only one who can actually make him listen." 5 I found a photography studio to take a portrait for my funeral. I hadn't originally planned to do this. Taking a funeral portrait feels like a prelude to death, something I had instinctively been avoiding. But an accident happened the night before. I got up in the middle of the night for some water and collapsed. I cut my knee on something, and it wouldn't stop bleeding. It soaked through my pajamas and pooled on the hardwood floor. My limbs ached as if they were being physically torn apart. I couldn't get up. I could only lie flat on my back on the floor for the entire night. The person in the photos on the wall looked down at me under the dim, yellow light, her eyes seemingly filled with sorrow. I endured until dawn before I finally found the strength to get up and go take the portrait. If it was going to hang on a wall, I vanity wanted to look somewhat presentable. Brushing my teeth resulted in a mouth full of blood, as usual. It was truly bizarre. Even without chemotherapy, my hair was falling out in huge handfuls. I had no eyebrows left. I looked like a skeleton wearing human skin. I applied some light makeup in front of the mirror, but I still looked hideously close to death. When the photographer heard I wanted a funeral portrait, he double-checked: "A funeral portrait? Are you sure?" I nodded. Seeing my emaciated, withered appearance, a touch of pity entered his eyes. He led me into the studio. A shoot was also happening in the studio next door. It seemed like a wedding photoshoot. It was very lively; laughter drifted over constantly, carrying an air of joy. The process was quick. In the photo, the corners of my mouth were turned up, and my eyes held a smile. But I was far too thin, and there was an indescribable exhaustion radiating from the image. The lipstick didn't help much. I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. Carrying the photo, I walked out. Passing the studio next door, I couldn't help but stop. The door wasn't fully closed, and voices drifted out. "Wow, Mia, you look better in this than the model did. It's stunning!" "Just wait until Ethan gets here. He's going to lose his mind!" "We've been waiting for almost two hours. Ethan should be here soon." ... Through the crack in the door, I could vaguely see Mia's silhouette, surrounded by a group of girlfriends. Her makeup was flawless, and she looked incredibly happy. She was wearing a long, flowing wedding gown, twirling in front of the mirror. My legs gave out. I leaned against the wall to steady myself, another wave of nausea rising in my throat. I clutched my lucky charm tightly. Memories instantly transported me back. This photography studio was owned by a friend of Ethan's. Even though it was in the older part of the city, it had a long history. With skills passed down from father to son, the photographers and makeup artists here were excellent, making it famous throughout the area. Once, I had foolishly hoped that one day I could take my wedding photos here. Back then, I always thought I had plenty of time. Once, by chance, his friend roped him into doing some modeling. A crisp white shirt and black slacks perfectly highlighted his narrow waist and long legs. With his handsome face, his photos were displayed outside the studio to attract customers. It worked incredibly well; the studio was suddenly packed. Later, they needed a model for wedding dresses, and he recommended me. Wearing a wedding dress, I stepped out from behind the curtain, unable to stop complaining: "This is suffocating me. This dress is way too tight..." He had been lazily leaning on the sofa, resting his chin on his hand, lost in thought. But at that moment, he shot up. In the giant floor-to-ceiling mirror, he stood tall in a sharp suit, and I stood there in a snow-white wedding gown. Standing face-to-face, we looked like a pair of newlyweds. I remember that afternoon. His gaze was burning, seemingly unable to look away from me. After a long moment, he smiled. "My little bride." I almost had the illusion... That he was going to cry. Unfortunately, it poured rain that day, and the studio's equipment malfunctioned. The wedding photoshoot never happened. Perhaps, that was fate. I was destined never to have the luck to wear a wedding dress, hold the hand of the man I loved, and pledge my life to him.
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