The day I divorced Julian Thorne, I received a call from the hospital. They apologized profusely, telling me they had mixed up my test results yesterday. The other report, the one diagnosing late-stage heart failure, was actually mine. "So, Ms. Reed, please come back to the hospital with your husband, just like yesterday." I stood outside the courthouse, watching Julian rush into his car and speed away as if escaping a plague. Husband? I didn't have one anymore. 1 On the way to divorce Julian, I suddenly coughed up blood. When the crimson stain bloomed on the tissue, I froze. He froze too. The car stopped by the roadside. Julian looked at me, his expression strange. Not concern, but worry. Worry that I might back out of the divorce I had finally agreed to. Silence filled the car. I wiped the blood from my mouth and looked up, meeting Julian's furrowed brows. Outside, the storm had passed, and watery sunlight filtered through the windows. After all these years, his face was still breathtakingly handsome. My heart skipped a beat, and I looked away. Julian's impatience was palpable. But his upbringing and manners compelled him to drive me to the hospital first. On the way, he made a call. His tone was unusually gentle: "I'll be delayed a bit. I'll come over this afternoon." I turned my head to the window, pretending not to hear, pretending not to know who was on the other end. I remembered how the storm this morning reduced visibility to near zero. Yet Julian had arrived downstairs before 8 AM to pick me up. He must have been eager to finish the paperwork and go to her. I clenched the bloody tissue, my fingers aching. In seven years of marriage, the only thing that made him rush to see me was divorce. 2 At the hospital, I showed the doctor the bloody tissue. After a lengthy consultation, the doctor ordered a stack of tests. Paying, queuing, testing. By noon, the results still weren't out. Julian checked his phone frequently, his face darkening. He asked the lab several times, only to be told the doctors were on break and results wouldn't be ready until after 4 PM. When his phone rang again, I said flatly, "Why don't you go ahead? We can go to the courthouse tomorrow." Julian looked visibly relieved. After a polite hesitation, he nodded. "Call me if anything happens." He walked briskly into the elevator, phone already to his ear. His gentle murmurs faded as the doors closed. I watched him leave. As expected, he didn't look back. I sat alone in the hallway waiting. Last night, chest pain and nausea kept me awake. Now, despite the noise, drowsiness overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes for a nap and drifted into a deep sleep. I woke up groggy. It seemed darker outside. Someone passed by with the smell of a boxed lunch. I checked my phone; it was past 5 PM. I heard a girl crying. Suppressing, helpless sobs that sounded heartbreaking. I looked up and saw a girl in her twenties curled up in a corner nearby, weeping. Hospitals are full of pitiful people and crying is a daily occurrence. My own life was a mess; I didn't feel qualified to comfort anyone. I stood up to leave. But the girl seemed to lose her strength, dropping a test report she had been clutching. It drifted silently to my feet. I looked down and saw the diagnosis: Late-stage left heart failure. Then I noticed the patient's name: "Sarah Reed." I froze. 3 So young, yet struck with an incurable disease. I felt a pang of sympathy. Perhaps the name "Sarah Reed" was cursed. I took a tissue from my bag and handed it to her. "Wipe your tears." I wasn't good at comforting people. The girl looked up, tear-streaked face full of despair. She took the tissue, sobbing a thank you I could barely hear. Before I could speak, someone rushed past me, bumping my shoulder. A woman in her fifties, sweat on her brow despite the snow on her coat. She had clearly rushed here in a panic. She threw herself at the girl, hugging her tight, eyes red. "My baby, my poor baby! "Don't be afraid, Mom is here. Mom will give you her heart!" The girl's suppressed sobs turned into a wail of terror. "Mom, I'm scared. I don't want to die." Watching them, I remembered. Years ago, my mom used to call me "baby" too. She died when I was eight. No one called me that anymore. My eyes stung. I looked away. The elevator doors opened, and a group of people rushed out. Men in suits, an old lady with white hair, young and middle-aged alike. Six or seven people, faces full of anxiety, hurried over. In moments, the girl who had been crying alone in the corner was surrounded. Voices of comfort, weeping, and brainstorming mixed together. I squatted down to pick up my bag that had been knocked to the floor. I went to get my own test report. Nothing serious. The doctor prescribed some medicine and let me go. I walked out of the clinic. The weather, which had cleared up earlier, was dark again, snow falling. Strange. I tightened my coat, put my bag over my head, and hailed a taxi. No one was waiting for me. No one would come for me. That night, I dreamed of the girl surrounded by her family in the hospital. I woke up to darkness. I thought I might be going crazy. For a moment, I envied the girl with the terminal illness. Dawn broke, and Julian called. "I'm downstairs." It took me a moment to remember. We rescheduled the divorce for today. 4 The snow was still falling. When I opened the car door, I saw someone in the passenger seat. Emily turned to look at me, apologetic. Her eyes were gentle and beautiful. Julian started the car, explaining calmly, "Emily has a cough. I'm taking her to buy medicine on the way." I looked out the window, silent. We were about to divorce; his affairs were none of my business. This time, the process was smooth. Divorce certificate in hand, we walked out. Julian took off his coat and wrapped it around Emily. He turned to me. "Emily needs medicine. It's not on the way. Do you need me to drop you off first?" As if he would actually do it if I said yes. I shook my head. "No." He immediately opened an umbrella, pulled Emily close, and walked into the snow. Seven years. He no longer had to maintain the facade of a harmonious marriage with me. He no longer had to sneak across the city at dawn just to see Emily for a moment. I watched them walk away until my phone rang for a long time, snapping me back to reality. I took a deep breath and answered. Maybe I was dazed, but I couldn't understand the middle-aged man's voice at first. "Late-stage left heart failure..." "Wrong report... our mistake..." "Ms. Reed, we are truly sorry. "This is the hospital's error. We will take serious disciplinary action..." Finally, I understood. The report that drifted to my feet yesterday wasn't for the other girl named Sarah Reed. It was mine. So, the person who was dying, who should have been crying in the corner, was me. A chill crept up my spine. I looked at the man walking away with Emily. Instinctively, I called out, "Julian." Like a drowning person grasping for driftwood. Julian opened the passenger door for Emily. Hearing my voice, he turned back. On the phone, the doctor continued, "So, Ms. Reed, please come back to the hospital with your husband, just like yesterday." I looked at Julian in the distance. Trudging through the snow, I hurried toward him. I knew Julian wouldn't care. But for some reason, I walked to him. He looked gentle from afar, but up close, I saw the indifference in his eyes. My voice trembled. "Could you..." I couldn't finish. He interrupted me. Julian frowned slightly. "Sarah, we're divorced."
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