The Last Winter

After my chemotherapy ended, someone took a photo of me and posted it online with the caption: "This woman got cancer. Good for her, lol."

Within ten minutes, my ex-husband—a wildly popular celebrity—called. I hung up.

That night, he showed up at my hospital bed, eyes red-rimmed. "Claire, you're not sick, right?"

I smiled faintly. "Stomach cancer, terminal. I'm dying."

1.

My husband was Marcus Jiang, a top-tier idol.

We'd been secretly married for eight years. I was there when he was still a struggling extra, staying by his side until he became a household name, transforming from an awkward boy into a media-savvy veteran.

I asked him when he'd go public.

He always said to wait—until he broke free from the corporate puppeteers.

I believed him.

But instead of an announcement, I got a parade of his rumored flings.

At first, he'd explain patiently. Then came the impatience. "It's just a handshake, a little eye contact. Nothing actually happened."

"That was arranged by the company. How was I supposed to know she'd call me in the middle of the night?"

"So what if I gave her a Valentine's gift? Don't be unreasonable, okay?"

…

Two years ago, a male coworker offered me a warm milk tea. Marcus was so furious he didn't talk to me for three days.

Even though I never even took it. He wouldn't listen.

Now, when it was his turn—handshakes, lingering looks—it was all trivial?

Did he ever consider how I felt?

Who was it this time?

Ah, right. Coco Zhou—the "millennium beauty" who debuted as the center of a talent show.

The internet was flooded with promos for their new drama. "Sweet eye contact," "adorable chemistry."

The comments were all:

*Get together! Get together!*

*Ahh, they're perfect for each other!*

*Such a gorgeous couple, I'm screaming!*

…

Didn't I feel heartache? Jealousy?

Last year, every meeting ended in a fight. He'd throw out, "If you can't handle it, get a divorce," and walk away.

That's when we started living apart. He stayed in hotels.

But when I got the diagnosis—"terminal stomach cancer"—my first instinct was still to call Marcus. To ask him what to do.

Twenty-two years together, from age five to now. He wasn't just my lover; he was family. We were woven into each other's lives.

But I never expected to hear a woman's voice on the other end. "Ouch, be gentle."

Then a muffled laugh.

My phone slipped from my hand. I blinked.

That laugh—it was Marcus.

He'd… betrayed me?

That day, I went insane. I stormed to his hotel, pounding on the door like a madwoman. When he opened it, he was wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. He frowned when he saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"Who is it?" Coco's voice drifted out. A moment later, she appeared behind him in a bathrobe, wrapping her arms around him. "Brother Marcus, who's this?"

Marcus looked at me, disgust flickering in his eyes. "My ex-wife."

"Heehee, your taste used to be pretty bad."

"It really was."

He said it casually, then looked down at me. "Anything else?"

I slapped him so hard my whole body trembled with sobs.

But he just pinched the bridge of his nose and said flatly, "Stop making a scene. Let's get a divorce."

2.

The next day, Marcus came back.

He was still in a suit, fresh from some event. He dropped a document in front of me. "Claire, let's part amicably. Don't make this ugly."

I hadn't slept all night. I grabbed the papers and hurled them at his face.

He tilted his head, a dangerous glint in his narrow eyes. "Claire, don't push it."

"*I'm* pushing it? Who was the one sleeping with someone else, Marcus?!"

I laughed—a laugh that burned in my chest, triggering a violent cough. My throat tasted metallic and bitter. "What, you cheat on me, and I'm supposed to thank you? Welcome you home with open arms?"

Marcus's brow furrowed, impatience creeping in. "We haven't been in the same world for a long time, and you know it. I'll give you financial compensation. You'll be fine."

I stared at him in disbelief.

Was this the same man who'd spent my childhood and youth with me, who'd sworn at the courthouse to cherish me forever? The man standing before me, eyes full of contempt—was he really the same person?

How could he have changed so completely in just two years?

I remembered last year. A simple sore throat sent him into a panic. He banned me from eating cold things, kept warm water on my desk, made me soothing soups, and nagged me to see a doctor.

His whole world was me.

And now, I was coughing so hard I couldn't speak, and all he felt was irritation.

I lowered my head, wiped my mouth, and smeared the blood onto my skirt.

"Marcus, I won't let this go."

He looked at me coolly, a hint of disdain in his eyes. "The company's already prepared a PR response. Making a scene won't end well for you."

I grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it at him. It shattered beside his face, a shard cutting his cheek.

"Get out!"

He'd never seen me like this. He pressed his lips together. "If you say anything online, I'll cut off the orphanage's funding."

I stared at his cold, ruthless face, my voice hoarse. "You're threatening me with that? Was Sister Chen ever unkind to you? Do you even have a heart?"

He looked down. "I told you, I'm going to the top. You know how hard I've worked, Claire."

*Bang.*

He left, slamming the door behind him.

I collapsed to the floor, vomiting blood. The pain in my stomach was excruciating, my body drenched in sweat.

Was this it? Was I dying?

3.

"Claire, let's be together. I want to spend the rest of my life looking at you."

It was right after graduation. Marcus had finally moved from being an extra to a minor supporting role. He'd saved up to buy me a ring.

It was the first snow of the year.

He stood under a dim streetlamp in a long black down jacket, his hair slightly curled, his expression nervous.

I knew he was worried about that rich senior who'd confessed to me.

He was so cute.

I held out my hand as he slipped the cold ring onto my finger. My heart felt impossibly warm.

…

*Cough, cough.*

I opened my eyes. Sunlight was streaming across the floor.

I was lying in the dark kitchen, wearing a black dress, the white marble tiles stained with dried blood.

Withered. Broken. Frozen to the bone. Even getting up felt like agony.

So this was what dying felt like.

I struggled to my feet, my head spinning. I shoved two pieces of milk candy into my mouth.

But then came the nausea. I hadn't eaten anything, but I kept retching, bringing up nothing but bile. My mouth was filled with bitterness.

It was unbearable.

I sank to the floor and looked around. The kitchen was empty.

There wasn't even a knife.

I'd been alone for so long.

Only I was still clinging to the past.

Marcus had already left, striding toward his so-called bright future.

Should I get revenge?

But what was the point? How much longer did I have?

I don't know how long I sat there. The sun began to set, and a sliver of light finally fell on me through the window, bringing a faint warmth.

I moved my fingers, got up, and called Marcus.

"I'll agree to the divorce. Give me fifty million, and double the orphanage's monthly funding."

There was a long silence on the other end. "Claire, isn't that a bit much?"

*Ha.*

I let out a dry laugh, tears streaming down my face. My voice was eerily calm. "I'll give you one day to think about it. I want to see you at the courthouse the day after tomorrow. Otherwise, you'll never get me to agree to a divorce."

I hung up without waiting for his reply.

4.

Marcus showed up, wearing a mask and hat, dressed in loose clothes.

But even so, his aura was unmistakable. People kept staring at him.

After all, his face was plastered all over the city—on billboards, bus stops. It was annoying.

Once the money was confirmed, I signed the divorce papers.

He had to take off his mask for identification, and the whispers started immediately.

I didn't know it then, but this would be posted online and cause a huge uproar.

…

After we left the courthouse, we were like strangers.

He walked straight to his van without even looking at me. Inside, I saw a pair of long, pale legs.

Probably Coco.

The door slid shut, and the van drove off, easily slipping out of my life.

But he'd left such a deep mark on it.

I watched the van disappear and whispered, "Marcus, goodbye forever."

Then I looked down at the draft message on my phone.

It was nearly ten thousand words—a chronicle of our lives together. From the day I arrived at the orphanage at age five, to our first meeting, to his proposal under the streetlamp after graduation.

Nine thousand eight hundred and twenty-one words. That was all it took to sum up twenty-two years. Shorter than a thesis.

Just as I was about to hit "post," I noticed a chubby mother holding her child's hand nearby.

They were laughing about something, their faces bright. It reminded me of Sister Chen, the orphanage director.

She was chubby too, with a warm smile and a booming voice. She treated all of us kids like her own.

Because she'd lost her own child when she was young.

…

I remembered when I first arrived at the orphanage. I cried nonstop, my eyes swollen.

Sister Chen was frantic. She coaxed me every day while juggling meals, laundry, and cleaning for all the kids. She never stopped moving.

When I grew up, I asked her if it was worth it.

She said she didn't have time to think about things like that. Instead of dwelling on negative emotions, it was better to cherish the good memories.

6.

I blinked, my finger hovering.

If I posted this, the media, the interviews, even the obsessive fans would be hunting me down.

But I only had three months to live at most.

Did I really want to waste them tangling with Marcus?

I didn't want to see him again.

In my final days, I just wanted to be alone. To truly feel the world, then leave quietly. No more ties to him. And then, one last visit to the orphanage. To see Sister Chen and the little ones. To hear her loud voice and their cheerful, chaotic laughter.

…

At the thought, a smile tugged at my lips.

A warm feeling slowly drowned out the pain Marcus had caused. It still ached, but it no longer felt insurmountable.

If only life could stay as beautiful as the first meeting.

I took a deep breath and looked up.

The sky was blue. There were white clouds.

What a beautiful day. I'd buy them some cake.

I hit "delete," and a weight lifted from my shoulders.

It was finally over.

7.

"Sister Claire's here!"

Yuan spotted me first and called out happily. She was five, round and adorable.

Then a swarm of little kids ran out and surrounded me. I smiled and handed them the cakes.

They carried them to the table, each picking their favorite flavor, their eyes shining with joy.

When Sister Chen saw me, she immediately slapped me on the back—gently—and yelled, her voice as loud as ever, "Are you dieting again?! You're so thin! It's not pretty!"

I looked at her. She seemed both worried and angry. Her hair had turned half gray without me noticing. Hadn't it been all black just last week?

Or maybe I just hadn't noticed.

Right then, I wanted to throw myself into her arms and cry. To tell her about all the pain I'd been through. To curse Marcus out.

But I held back. I wrapped my arms around hers and whined, "It's trendy, Sister Chen."

"Trendy, my foot!"

She grumbled.

"I'm making beef stew. You're eating two bowls of rice today."

"Okay."

I sniffled and gave her a bright smile.

"Weirdo."

Sister Chen looked at me, a hint of fondness in her eyes despite her complaints.

She turned to leave, then hesitated. "Jiang Han… I mean, how are things with you and Marcus?"

I froze for a second before realizing she'd used his original name, Jiang Han.

"Marcus Jiang" was a stage name his company gave him.

About two years ago, I think.

…

It hit me then. That was when he'd started drifting away from my Jiang Han.

"We're fine."

I lowered my eyes, a smile on my lips.

She sighed, frustrated, but still tried to comfort me. "Those media outlets, they just make things up. He's a steady, obedient kid. He wouldn't cheat."

I thought of that day—him in a towel, Coco's arms around him. I dug my nails into my palm and nodded with a smile.

"Yeah. He's good to me."

Sister Chen patted my head. "If it gets too much, just divorce him. Come back and help out here."

"Ha ha, okay."

She still looked uneasy, but she turned and went to cook.

I watched her back as she tied on her apron. I watched the kids eating cake at the table. My gaze wandered—to the sandbox where we used to play, the swing I'd sat on, and finally to the giant ginkgo tree.

Its leaves had all turned yellow and fallen.

But I remembered when it was in full bloom, its branches heavy and rustling.

A young Marcus had stood beneath it, his eyes clear and focused, and said, "Claire, I'll never let you cry again. You don't have to be so strong. Just lean on me."

…

When I came back to myself, I was sobbing.

I covered my face, desperate not to let Sister Chen or the kids see, and fled.

But this was the last time I'd cry for him. For the beautiful, sincere boy he used to be.

And the main reason I ran was that I couldn't eat two bowls of beef stew anymore. Not even half a bowl.

6.

What a shame.

I remembered the taste. The rich aroma of meat. The tender, juicy texture that melted in your mouth.

Back when the orphanage was strapped for cash, each kid only got five or six pieces.

But Marcus always gave me his. I'd have to force him to take a bite, and he'd do it grudgingly, claiming he didn't like it and telling me to finish it all.

Why was I thinking about him again?

I was just reminiscing about the past. But the past was full of him.

I closed my eyes, forcing the images out of my mind. I looked at the cemetery plot in front of me and thought: Wasn't this a bit unfair? Other people took years to get over a breakup. I got a mandatory three months, max.

"That's really unfair," I muttered.

At least the cemetery was far from the city. The scenery was nice, and the "neighbors" seemed friendly enough. It lifted my spirits a little.

I almost laughed at the thought. Marcus always said my brain worked in strange ways, that my thoughts were all over the place. But he'd always look at me with such fondness.

There I go again. Pathetic.

I looked down, brushed the grass off my clothes, and said to the salesperson, "This one's fine."

After signing the contract and making my final arrangements, I went to the hospital.

Then, out of nowhere, Marcus called to say, "I'm sorry."

How bizarre.

I didn't say anything. I just hung up and blocked him.

In my final days, I was going to cut him out of my life completely. Tear him out of my flesh and leave no trace.

7.

The private room was nice. The nurses and doctors were attentive.

Sometimes I'd chat with the nurses about funny things. It was almost pleasant.

Until today. She started being evasive, and she kept staring at my face.

Confused, I checked my phone. Weibo was exploding.

The headlines were all:

"Marcus Jiang Divorced."

Followed by:

*"Marcus Jiang was married?"*

*"Marcus Jiang blackmailed."*

*"Who is Marcus Jiang's wife?"*

*"Marcus Jiang, losing fans."*

*"Marcus Jiang's statement."*

…

My finger hovered. I clicked on his statement.

The gist of it was: Marcus and I had known each other since we were young. We got married. But then I became greedy and extravagant. We were about to get divorced, but when he got famous, I started leeching off him. I claimed to have depression and threatened suicide. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He asked me what I wanted. I said fifty million, or I wouldn't agree to the divorce.

Below it was a clip of audio, less than a minute long.

Me: "Give me fifty million."

Marcus: "Claire, isn't that a bit much?"

Me: "Ha. I'll give you one day. Fifty million, or you'll never get a divorce."

…

*Cough, cough, cough, cough…*

The edited recording was so absurd it made my brain stop working.

Even though we'd been fighting for two years, even though he'd cheated and I'd caught him, I never imagined he'd do this to me.

What had happened in those two years?

Had the glitz and glamour really made him so desperate that he'd throw all the dirt on me?

When had the boy I remembered—cold on the outside, warm on the inside, so good to me—turned into this greedy, selfish monster?

Had I ever really known him?

*Gag…*

The sweet memories of the past and the despair of the present twisted together in my chest. It felt like the whole world was a lie, full of jarring inconsistencies.

I clutched my chest, coughing and retching. Blood splattered onto the white sheets. I couldn't stop it. Even as the sheets turned red, I was still laughing.

So this was what it felt like to be in so much pain that you couldn't stop laughing. Ha ha ha.

How could it be so funny? Ha ha ha!

My stomach was twisting with agony. I kept vomiting blood. My head throbbed like it was going to explode.

So this was what it felt like when the world ended, when your beliefs crumbled.

I collapsed onto the bed, and the world went dark. When I woke up, it was three days later.

After I got out of the ICU, I went quiet.

The doctors kept hinting that I should rest and get better.

I looked at them and smiled. "Just tell me how long I have left."

He sighed, took off his glasses, and said, "Maybe… one to two months. Try not to get too emotional. But if you take good care of yourself, you never know. Keep a positive attitude…"

"It's fine. I know my body."

I smiled at him, then let the nurse help me into a wheelchair and push me back to my room.

I was so tired. Even breathing was exhausting.

So this was what it felt like when your body started to shut down.

I stared at the bare branches outside the window. Winter had arrived.

At the same time, my phone rang again. Another unknown number.

I hadn't looked at my phone in a week. There were over three hundred missed calls. I didn't need to guess who it was.

If seeing them had stirred something in me before, now it just made me annoyed. Then, nothing.

I hung up and lay quietly.

My body was weak. I felt nauseous. Even breathing was hard.

When you're facing death, you can't even hold onto your emotions. It hurts so much that you don't want anything. Even your hair feels tired.

You just want to live. To survive.

I wished I'd had a hotpot after leaving the orphanage. Spicy and numbing. Beef rolls, beef tripe, lamb, fried rice cakes…

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Marcus was standing by my bed, his eyes bloodshot and desperate. "Claire, you're not sick, right?"

I looked at his strained expression and found it hilarious. "Cancer. Terminal. I'm dying."

8.

"Fuck! Fuck! Why the hell didn't you tell me? Fuck!"

Marcus went crazy. The "refinement" and "aloofness" the entertainment industry had forced on him shattered. He smashed vases, dishes, the TV, even the kettle.

He was like a cornered beast, venting all his emotions.

Regret. Guilt. Or love?

I just watched him, my heart completely still. "So noisy."

My voice was barely a whisper, but it hit him like a switch. He froze, then slowly, painfully, sank to his knees. He held his head in his hands and muttered to himself, "What have I done? What have I done? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Claire. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me…"

He was on the floor like a dog, tears streaming down his face. He looked pathetic and desperate. It reminded me of how I must have looked when I found out he'd cheated.

So this was how ugly it was.

"Get him out of here!"

The security guards, who'd been waiting for him to stop, rushed in and dragged him away.

But Marcus kept shouting, "Claire, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

I couldn't be bothered to look at him. I let the nurses move me to a new room. I even thought of that line from *Meteor Garden*: "If sorry were enough, what would we need the police for?"

How funny. Even now, I could still think of jokes. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

But how did he find me?

I opened my phone and searched his name again.

It helped to have a famous ex-husband. The search results popped up immediately: "Marcus Jiang's ex-wife's current condition."

I clicked on it. It was a photo of me.

It must have been taken in the hospital lobby during my chemo. I was pale and gaunt, my eyes closed.

The top comment was: *That bitch got cancer. Serves her right, lol.*

User ID: *I Love Marcus Forever.*

…

That was enough.

I threw my phone against the wall.

I'd wanted to avoid these emotions, but they followed me like a shadow.

So annoying.

9.

When I woke up the next day, Marcus was there again.

He was sitting next to me, eyes closed, dark circles under them.

What was he doing?

He must have sensed me staring. He opened his eyes, and when he saw I was awake, his face lit up. "Claire, you're awake! Are you hungry? I made you some chicken soup. I skimmed off all the fat with paper towels. The doctor said you can have some liquids. Let me get you a bowl, okay?"

He started to get up.

So annoying.

I'd just woken up, and my vision was blurry. His silhouette was doubled. I pressed the nurse call button.

"Get him out of here. I don't know him."

Marcus's face twisted with pain, but he crouched by my bed and begged, "Claire, please. Just let me stay with you. I won't talk…"

"We're already divorced." I looked at him coldly. "Or did you think the edited audio wasn't enough? That posting my chemo photo wasn't enough? Did you want to come and finish me off yourself?"

"No, no… Please, don't say that."

Marcus bowed his head, his voice hoarse. He covered his face in pain.

I let out a dry laugh. "You were so quick to stab me in the back. Don't act now. Get lost."

"Get him out," I repeated to the nurse.

The nurse looked embarrassed. She turned to Marcus. "Mr. Jiang, this is really bad for the patient. She's already very weak."

"Mr. Jiang?"

"Fine. I'll go."

Marcus took a deep breath, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then looked up and forced a smile at me. "I'll do whatever Claire says."

…

That sentence hit me like a punch to the gut.

Every time he made me angry, he'd hold me, lower his voice, and say those words so gently. I'd always give in.

But what was the point now?

I didn't say anything. I watched him get up to leave.

"Wait!"

I called out.

He turned, hope flashing in his eyes.

I said coldly, "Take your soup. It's disgusting."

In that moment, it was as if all the stars in his eyes went out.

He hesitated, then picked up the soup and carried it out.

I looked away.

Belated affection was cheaper than grass.

No, that was an insult to the grass.

10.

The truth was, I'd known for a long time that we were two different people.

In school, we both studied like crazy. Reality forced us to work hard. A few hundred dollars in scholarship money could feed us for months.

But as we grew up, we changed.

I was easygoing. After graduation, I got a job at a big company. The pay was good. I was busy, but as long as I had a roof over my head and food on the table, I was content.

Marcus, on the other hand, was hungry for success.

But in that industry, he had no connections. He didn't want to play the game. So he ran around as an extra, sometimes not coming home for half a year.

Even so, it never affected our relationship. I said yes to his proposal without hesitation.

Because his whole world was me.

And mine was him.

Until three years ago, when he lost a role.

He'd finally gotten a part with some screen time. One scene required him to wear a "split" suit of armor and lie half-submerged in freezing water, completely still.

The director was a big shot who didn't allow stunt doubles and demanded good looks.

Marcus took the job. A few seconds of screen time took half an hour to film.

When he came out, his lips were purple.

But he was happy. He called me and said the director promised him the male lead in the next project. A big production. It could be his big break.

It didn't happen.

The new male lead's backer was even more powerful than the director.

It was a common story in the entertainment industry.

But after that, Jiang Han became "Marcus Jiang." He did whatever the company told him to. If they wanted him to create a fake romance, he did it. If they wanted him to attend parties, he went.

The Jiang Han who'd dreamed of becoming a serious actor was gone. He'd fully embraced the idol life.

And the companionship I'd cherished faded as he became more famous.

I wasn't blind. I saw how the glitz had gone to his head. But I kept telling myself that the sweet boy from the orphanage, the one who'd always protected me, who'd always looked at me with nothing but love—no matter how much he changed, he was still my Jiang Han.

Reality had other plans.

…

I took small sips of the hospital food. It was all liquid, completely tasteless.

Whatever. Thinking about him was a waste of time. I'd rather think about food.

I wanted hotpot. Spicy hotpot. And spicy noodles. And crawfish. And a spicy breakfast wrap…

I blinked.

Right. I was dying. Why was I still watching what I ate?

I'd figured it out too late. The chemo had just made my hair fall out without doing any good. At least I hadn't had too many sessions, so I still looked relatively normal.

With that thought, I climbed out of bed.

I'd lived in the north my whole life. I'd never seen the ocean. I wanted to go to Harbor City. I'd heard the sunrise there was stunning. Now was the perfect time.

I got up and pushed open the door. Marcus was still sitting in the chair outside.

He jumped up at the sound, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Claire, where are you going? Let me help you."

I brushed his hand away and walked off.

He followed behind me, sticking to my heels like glue.

So annoying.

I turned around. "Stop following me!"

He froze, looking lost. "I… I'm just worried about you. Please, let me stay with you."

"Stop pretending to be so devoted. Get lost, Marcus. *You* were the one who didn't want me. *You* were the one who slept with someone else. *You* were the one who edited that audio… *cough, cough*… and threw me under the bus!"

"I…"

"Marcus! If I weren't sick, after what you did to me, do you think I'd still be alive?"

"No, I…"

"You should be grateful I'm dying. I don't have the energy to waste on a piece of garbage like you!"

His face went white. His lips moved, but no words came out.

I was breathing heavily. It took me a few seconds to calm down.

An awkward silence fell.

Finally, I sighed and turned away. "If you really care about me, don't come near me again."

He hung his head. He didn't follow.

11.

The doctors didn't want me to leave the hospital. My heart and lungs were failing.

Too bad.

I really wanted to go. But the thought of dying on a plane and traumatizing the passengers and flight attendants made me change my mind.

I wasn't hoping for a miracle anymore. I just wished I'd found out sooner.

If I had, I could have eaten more good food. Seen the ocean.

Sigh.

I was already in a bad mood. And when I walked out of the office, there he was again.

I didn't know he could be such a pest.

I ignored him and went back to my room.

But he followed me in again, holding up his phone like he was showing off a trophy. On Weibo, he'd posted: *"It's all my fault. I cheated. My wife is a wonderful woman."*

It had been posted ten minutes ago. It already had tens of thousands of comments.

…

"Are you insane?"

I opened my mouth.

He grinned, his voice choked with tears. "Claire, I don't care about anything anymore. Please, let me stay with you."

I looked at him, not knowing what expression to make.

He stepped forward and carefully wrapped his arms around me, his voice trembling. "I was so wrong. Please… let me be with you until the end."

Hot tears dripped onto my neck.

This was the first time I'd seen him so vulnerable. He'd always acted like he was invincible around me.

So he could look like this too.

We'd leaned on each other for so long. We were part of each other.

But now, as he held me, I felt nothing.

"Marcus, I don't love you anymore."

His body stiffened. He said bitterly, "That's okay. I know. I'll love you enough for both of us."

12.

After he posted that message, Marcus's phone wouldn't stop ringing.

But he didn't care. He didn't answer a single call. He just wore simple T-shirts and sweatpants and moved into the hospital.

Every morning, noon, and night, he made me soup, changing up the recipes. It was like being back in that tiny rented apartment, where he'd cook different things for me every day.

At first, I could eat half a bowl. He was a good cook.

But after a few weeks, I was taking more pills than food. Painkillers, anti-nausea meds, supplements, diuretics.

I'd eat half a bite and throw up for half an hour.

He never got tired of it. He stayed by my side, cleaning up the blood and food I threw up, applying warm compresses, turning me over in bed.

…

But even with all the medication, my body was failing.

Sometimes I'd snap back to reality and realize days had passed without me noticing.

Those two or three days would just be gone. All that was left was Marcus, forcing a smile, taking care of me. When I woke up, he'd ask if I wanted to go downstairs for a walk.

But I had no idea what had happened. I felt like half my soul had left my body, watching from above with mournful eyes.

The stomach pain was getting worse. The painkillers did nothing. It felt like a knife was twisting inside me. I couldn't live, and I couldn't die.

Marcus was afraid I'd bite my tongue, so he put his hand in my mouth. I bit him so hard he needed six stitches.

He just laughed and said it was a mark I'd left on him.

He was insane.

I started sleeping more and more. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like I might never wake up.

13.

"Hey, Marcus. Let's go get hotpot."

He looked up, disbelief in his eyes. There was despair and grief. "Claire…"

His voice was so hoarse he could barely speak.

I just lay there, watching him.

After a long time, he nodded. "Okay. I'll make it for you."

I was so happy.

Too bad I never got to eat it.

I started vomiting blood again.

Marcus grabbed my hand, calling my name over and over. He looked like the world was ending.

But I couldn't respond. Everything went black.

It hurt so much. Please, someone save me.

13.

I spent a whole week in the ICU.

When I woke up, Marcus was a wreck. He had stubble and dark circles. I'd never seen him look so terrible.

Even when we were poor, he'd buy a five-cent razor and carefully shave.

"You look ugly."

I laughed. He cried.

"I thought… Claire… you're awake. Thank God."

He buried his face in my neck, his whole body shaking.

"Let's have hotpot today, okay?"

He nodded, his voice pained. "Okay."

"I want… spicy… extra spicy."

Just those six words exhausted me.

"Okay. I'll get your favorite beef rolls, tripe, tofu… We'll have it all, okay?"

"Mm."

I closed my eyes, exhausted.

We both knew. The end was near.

I was so tired.

14.

"Mmm, it smells good."

I sniffed and slowly opened my eyes. Sister Chen's face was the first thing I saw.

I felt like I was dreaming.

When she saw I was awake, she gently pinched my cheek. Even her usually loud voice was soft. "Lazy bones. You slept so long!"

I was dazed as she helped me sit up. I realized I was at the orphanage.

No wonder I hadn't been sleeping well. He'd brought me here.

It must have been Marcus's idea.

"Come on, eat. I made all your favorites."

Sister Chen reached out to take my hand, but when she saw how thin and dry it was, her smile faltered. She forced a half-cry, half-laugh expression. She was trying so hard to hold it together, but her shoulders were shaking. She turned away so I wouldn't see the grief pouring out of her.

I was sad too.

But I didn't even have the strength to cry.

"I'm sorry, Sister Chen. I didn't want to make you sad…"

She still had her back to me, wiping her face. When she finally turned around, she was in tears. "Are you stupid?! You should have told me! I would have gone and beaten that brat! I would have taken care of you! Keeping this to yourself… How did you get through it alone?!"

She raised her hand, like she wanted to hit me the way she used to. But in the end, she slapped her own thigh in regret. "I should have grabbed you last time and asked what was going on. I shouldn't have let you go. And you lied to me about dieting! Look at you now!"

Sister Chen was hunched over. Her hair, which had been half-gray last time, was now completely white.

My heart ached. I hugged her, leaning my head against her warm back. It smelled like laundry soap—the scent of a mother.

"Sister Chen, don't cry. I love you so much."

She cried even harder. "You little brat! Why are you saying things like that?!"

"Come on. Let's eat. I made beef stew and hotpot. I sent Marcus to buy your favorite cream puffs. You're eating at least two bowls of rice today!"

I opened my mouth. Then I nodded. "Okay."

She carefully helped me into a wheelchair and pushed me out.

When we got outside, I was surprised to see the dining room decorated with blue and white silk, like the ocean.

The kids were gathered around the table. When they saw me, they swarmed me, chattering.

The hotpot on the table was bubbling. The ingredients were tumbling in the bright red, spicy broth. It looked beautiful.

The room was filled with warmth and noise.

Everyone I loved was here.

It was perfect.

Marcus had gone to buy cream