My husband is a world-renowned scientist. In an interview, when asked about relationships, he said: "I don't consider myself a qualified partner." "No matter what, love will never be my priority." "I only wish to use my limited time to pursue the infinite truths of science." After the program aired, he was universally praised for his fearless dedication to science. I quietly put away my medical report. I have cancer. Terminal. While he travels to London to accept an award, these will be my last days in this world. 1 The last moment of consciousness was the blinding light of the operating lamp. Then, I floated out of my body and saw the whole operating room. I saw the heart monitor next to the bed flatline. That's when I realized. I think I'm dead. 2 I don't know why, but I became a spirit, able to drift anywhere. This morning, I was fine. I even talked to Julian. He had a conference abroad and a flight at noon. So, I got up at 7 AM to make him breakfast. Julian looks like he doesn't care about anything, but he's a picky eater. His toast has to be slightly burnt, his milk heated just so. Our son, Leo, always said, "Mom, you've spoiled Dad's taste buds." I never denied it. After taking care of him meticulously for almost thirty years, even the most troublesome tasks became habit. 3 "Julian, I heard there's a cold front hitting the UK. The temperature's going to drop." "I packed an extra down vest for you." "Gum is in the left pocket of your backpack. Your ears always pop on flights; chewing it helps." "Don't stay up too late. Your heart has been bothering you lately, right? Sleep early..." "It's a Polar Continental air mass." He interrupted me abruptly. I looked up dully and met his clear, indifferent eyes. Time has been kind to Julian. His brow is still sharp, and even nearing middle age, the years haven't left a mark. That coldness he's carried since his youth can still pierce straight to my heart. He was correcting my first sentence. It wasn't just a "cold front"; it was a "Polar Continental air mass." I just wanted to care for him. I lowered my eyes. I straightened his tie. "Got it." "Safe travels, Julian." He walked past me sideways. He thought I had nothing to do this afternoon. But I did. He was going across the Atlantic for a scientific conference. I had a meeting too. My pre-op meeting. The doctor said the success rate of the surgery was only twenty percent. 4 When the doctor told me the stomach cancer wasn't found in time and had spread, I sat in the hospital hallway all afternoon. The TV mounted in the corner was replaying an interview Julian did a few days ago. The man with the cold eyes didn't want to waste time on anything but research. Even when asked about his wife, he brushed it off. "I'm dense when it comes to emotions." "I don't understand romance. A wife... to me, is more of a responsibility." "Celebrate anniversaries? That's just formalism. I'd rather run a few more experiments than waste time preparing for that." It sounded exactly like Julian. Forget anniversaries; he didn't even celebrate birthdays. When we were young, I used to pester him about it, hoping one day he'd show up with a bouquet of red roses. But I never got those roses. A brain that could memorize endless data refused to remember the four digits of my birthday. Eventually, I'd just sit alone at the table with a bowl of noodles and call it a celebration. Julian is a stone; stones don't bloom. It took me over twenty years to accept that. In recent years, I started to feel like maybe I was the problem. Call it exhaustion, call it giving up. The funny thing is, he is him, and I am me. He laid this truth out decades ago, but I only understand it now. I folded the diagnosis report into a small square, put it in my pocket, and only called my son. 5 Leo is close to me. Julian doesn't like kids, and his only son has zero aptitude for science. After listening to my emotionless narration, Leo's voice choked up. "Mom..." "Did you tell Dad..." "I didn't." I looked down at the granite floor. "I don't want to tell him." He is him, I am me. Besides, what would he do if he knew? Would he drop his obsessive research to take care of me? "Leo." "Mom doesn't know how long she has left." "If I die one day, don't tell your father." Why bring something Julian doesn't care about to his attention just to annoy him? "Okay." Leo replied on the other end. "Mom, honestly, Dad doesn't deserve you." "He really doesn't deserve someone as good as you." ... 6 My spirit floated in the hospital hallway. I saw the doctor walk out of the operating room, shaking his head regretfully. Leo slumped over my hospital bed, crying. He had brought me to the hospital at noon and waited outside the OR until nightfall. But Mom wasn't strong enough; I couldn't open my eyes. He cried so heartbreakingly. I was frantic beside him, but he couldn't see me. I wanted to hug him, tell him not to cry like when he was little. Leo has worked hard. Although he didn't become a scientist like his father hoped, his paintings are loved by many. He has a solo exhibition in Italy later this year. I sat beside him, looking up at the stars, singing to him like I used to. He couldn't hear me, but I felt like this way, he'd know Mom was with him. ... Suddenly, a gust of wind carried me far away. The senses of a spirit are strange. I could sense what was happening in the hospital after my death, yet I also arrived at Julian's conference venue. His conference was supposed to last seven days. A man in a suit easily becomes the center of attention. Young, handsome, with a resume that's practically unmatched. Julian has always been the center of attention, since he was a kid. In college, girls flocked to him. Back then, some girls were bold enough to pursue him right to his dorm. Every time, he looked at them with that distant gaze. Wearing a plain white shirt, book tucked under his arm, he'd look down with restraint and detachment: "Sorry, I don't like you." Merciless. The popularity many men would kill for was just a nuisance to him. He was already winning national awards left and right. Professors constantly mentioned his name. I was one of the students looking up at him from the fringe. I only dared to catch a glimpse of his shirt as he left the cafeteria. Julian definitely didn't know I had a crush on him for three or four years before we were set up on a blind date. And I never dreamed that three years after graduation, my family would arrange a date with him. "I won't have someone I like." That was the first thing Julian said to me. "If I have to say I like something, I like experiments, calculations—things that have nothing to do with people." He frowned slightly, but even that couldn't hide his dazzling good looks. He stated his position clearly and concisely. "We are not discussing love." "We are merely ensuring progeny. Can you understand that?" ... Actually, back then, Julian was very clear. I was the one who thought I could accept it. I was the one who wanted to be with him. I always thought we had time. I thought one day his clear gaze would settle on me. I thought he— Would fall in love with me. Call it hubris, pinning my day-and-night devotion on the hope that feelings would grow over time. My spirit drifted to his side. I watched him converse seriously with another scholar. Tall, indifferent, elegant. "Was I stupid?" I put my hands in my pockets and looked at him. "They say smart people look at normal people the way normal people look at idiots." On the other side, my body was loaded into a hearse. The academic conference was buzzing with voices. "Julian, did you think I was stupid?
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