On the day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I sat outside the hospital clutching a positive pregnancy test, staring blankly for a very long time. My phone buzzed. It was Julian, my boyfriend of eight years. “Lily, about getting the marriage license… can we hold off for a bit? Give me some time to think it over?” “Sure.” “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you—” He paused, clearly stunned that I had agreed so easily and without a fight. He quickly added that he wouldn’t be home for dinner and hastily hung up. 1 Julian and I had been dating for eight years. We were supposed to be getting married soon. We started our own business right after college, and last year, it finally took off. We bought a car, put a down payment on a new house, and were getting ready to renovate. If I hadn't gotten this disease, maybe next year I would have had a soft, sweet little baby sleeping in my arms. Since Julian wasn't coming home for dinner, I made myself a simple bowl of vegetable noodle soup, hesitating over how to tell him the news tonight. After all, we had agreed last year that we would get our marriage license by the end of this year. My doctor was a young woman, only a few years older than me. She gently advised me not to keep the baby and to focus on aggressive treatment. She told me not to be afraid—I was young, and the cure rate should be high. Honestly, I wasn't that afraid. Because I had Julian. He would always be by my side. The doorbell rang. I wondered why Julian was ringing the bell instead of using his keys. When I opened the door, Julian was standing there, heavily intoxicated. Supporting him was Mia, a new hire from our PR department—a fresh college grad. “Hey, Lily. We were out entertaining clients, and Mr. Vance had a bit too much to drink. His car is parked downstairs,” Mia said. She was wearing a cute, floral slip dress, her cheeks slightly flushed, as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I just brought him up. I’ll catch an Uber back.” Julian, eyes glazed over with alcohol, stumbled onto the couch and immediately fell asleep. I took his suit jacket from her. It carried the faint, sweet scent of orange blossom perfume—Mia's perfume. “Thanks, Mia,” I smiled. “It’s too late. Let me drive you home.” Mia politely declined at first, but I insisted. “I wouldn't feel comfortable letting a young girl like you take an Uber alone at this hour.” “So, Lily, when are you and Mr. Vance tying the knot?” On the drive, Mia asked the question tentatively. I froze for a second, thinking of the phone call from Julian earlier that afternoon. I forced an awkward smile. “We’re going to wait until the company is a bit more stable for another year or two.” …Wait until my condition stabilizes. “Oh, I see…” Mia looked out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, she lowered her head and smiled sweetly. “Got it.” After dropping Mia off, I parked the car. I suddenly remembered that I had left a bottle of Vitamin E supplements I bought last time in the passenger-side glove compartment. I opened the passenger door, but my eyes caught something wedged in the gap of the seatbelt buckle. It was a torn, small, square wrapper. Oil from the wrapper seeped onto my fingers. I froze. Suddenly, I thought of Mia’s slip dress and her flushed cheeks when I opened the door. I thought of Julian’s phone call that afternoon, and how he used his drunkenness to look away, avoiding my eyes. I sat blankly in the passenger seat. So many things had happened in a single day. For a moment, I didn't even know where to begin. 2 Julian and I started dating during our freshman year of college. He pursued me. At the time, I was working part-time at a local pho shop near campus to earn tuition money. Julian fell in love with me at first sight. To woo me, Julian—a bona fide trust-fund kid—ate pho every single day for a solid year. On the day I finally agreed to date him, he got so sick of the food that he threw up violently right there in the shop. To this day, he still can't stand the smell of pho broth. Knowing I was proud and wouldn't accept handouts, he ate at the cheap dining halls with me. He would buy fruit and milk and forcefully shove them into my hands: “What if my future wife gets malnourished?” Knowing I hated the smell of smoke, he quit smoking cold turkey. Once, when the cravings hit him hard, he braved the bewildered stares of his rich frat-boy friends, pulled out a lollipop, and stuck it in his mouth, his face red as he tried to save his ego: “Psh, what do you guys know? This is what family men do.” Honestly, I never really knew why Julian liked me. He was 6'2", handsome, and wealthy. But Julian didn't care. He said if he liked me, he fucking liked me. He was incredibly stubborn. Once he set his mind on a path, he would walk it to the very end. I saw that clearly the time he took me home to meet his parents on Christmas Eve. I stood awkwardly in front of his parents, holding a modest fruit basket I had bought. His parents hosted me with frigid politeness. While the maid was clearing the dining table, his mother coughed lightly and gave Julian a look, gesturing for him to step aside to talk with her. The chandelier in the villa was so blindingly bright it was almost harsher than the August sun, making me unable to lift my head. Its light cast a harsh glare on my worn-out puffer jacket and faded jeans. And those were actually my best clothes. I sat on the European-style sofa with my legs pressed tightly together, trying my best to shrink my presence. The maids’ gazes drifted over me, accompanied by faint, muffled snickers that scraped against my pride like knives. I heard his mother’s hysterical voice carrying from the other room: “She definitely knows you have money, right?!” “She has no parents! What can she possibly offer you in the future?!” My heart felt like it was being brutally stomped on. It hurt so much I couldn't breathe. My head dropped lower and lower. I pinched my arm hard, telling myself not to cry. The next second, I heard the sound of Julian slamming a door. His face was dark with anger as he stormed toward me. He grabbed my hand where I sat with my head bowed on the sofa: “We’re leaving!” “Julian Vance! If you walk out that door, don't ever call me your mother again!” her voice echoed from behind. “We won't give you a single cent!” Hearing his mother’s threat, Julian’s steps faltered. Before his mother could look smug, Julian turned back and snatched the fruit basket I had brought: “You don't deserve this!” It was Christmas Eve. The streets were practically empty of pedestrians and cars, and even the subway had stopped running. We had no choice but to walk to a hotel. As we crossed an overpass, the wind howled through my hair. The quiet city was lit up with thousands of lights from homes celebrating the holiday, looking like a sea of stars in the distance. But not a single one of those lights belonged to me. I didn't turn around. I just kept my head down and said very, very softly: “Julian, let’s break up.” He didn't say a word. “Julian, we—” He unzipped his winter coat and wrapped his arms around me from behind, engulfing me entirely in his embrace. He held me in silence, hugging me so tightly, as if afraid I would disappear if he let go even a little. The silence dragged on. He buried his face in my neck, holding me for a very long time. Suddenly, he spoke. His voice was soft, but incredibly firm: “Lily, I’ll give you a home.” 3 When I got back inside, Julian was fast asleep on the couch. I gently draped a blanket over him. His phone lit up. Two unread messages. They were from Mia. "I got her home safe and sound! Don't worry, Boss!" Followed by a cute sticker of a little girl winking and saying goodnight. I knew I shouldn't be snooping, but I couldn't resist scrolling up to read their chat history. "What did Boss Vance have for lunch today? A bento box she made for you?" "Yeah." "Ugh, so unfair. You should eat takeout with us single dogs sometimes, Boss." "Maybe tomorrow." The date was the day before yesterday. I remembered the next day Julian specifically told me I didn't need to wake up early to make him lunch. When I asked why, he hugged me from behind, kissed my neck softly, and said he didn't want me to work so hard, giving me a "day off." "Boss, when are you guys getting married?" Attached was a sticker of a little girl wiping tears. Unlike his previous instant replies, this time he took ten minutes to respond: "I don't know." He said he didn't know. I put the phone down. I didn't scroll any further. There was no need. There were no explicit messages. Just Julian replying to Mia as instantly as he did to me, with Mia referring to me simply as "she" in every sentence. But in the vibe of their conversation, it felt like I was the third wheel intruding on them. I put his phone back, stood up, and placed my medical records and the pregnancy test in the bottom drawer of the study desk, right next to our joint savings passbook. The wind had picked up outside. It had just rained a little, and the wind blew a damp, warm breeze into the room. I closed the door and sat blankly at the desk. Honestly, when I got the diagnosis, saying I wasn't afraid would be a lie. I sat at the hospital entrance back then, watching the busy traffic, trying desperately to think for a very long time. I wondered how I could say it casually. How I could break the news without making him too sad. I planned to tell him with a smile. Julian, I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first? If he wants the good news, I’ll tell him he’s going to be a dad. If he wants the bad news, I’ll say I was just kidding about the dad part. Then he would definitely flick my forehead, and then I’d tell him about the cancer. He would definitely hug me tightly from behind like he did back then, telling me not to be afraid. I’d comfort him back, tease him for being so nervous, and tell him I wasn't scared at all. Or maybe I’d cry and tell him the truth. Tell him I was terrified. I was afraid of the pain, afraid it couldn't be cured. I was afraid chemotherapy would make me bald, that I wouldn't be able to wear a ponytail or look pretty in dresses anymore. Tell him how much I couldn't bear to lose this baby. We had left a wall in the nursery of our new house for Lego displays. He had said that if we had a daughter, he would build Legos with her and buy her lots of pretty dresses. Then he would definitely say the cheesiest romantic things. He would say that in his heart, I would always be the most beautiful woman in the world. That we would have lots of kids in the future, and if this one was too impatient to wait, we wouldn't want it anyway. But before I could figure out what to say, his call came through. On the phone, he said he wanted to hold off on getting the marriage license. I agreed almost without hesitation. He loved me so much. How could I tie him down for the rest of his life when he had given up everything for me? At that moment, I even hoped he didn't love me anymore. That way, he wouldn't be so sad. Maybe right then, a passing deity looked down at the mortal world and heard my wish. He really didn't love me as much as he used to. I really wanted to live, too. But I didn't know if staying alive would be more painful than chemotherapy. 4 I sat in the study, letting the wind blow over me all night, still unable to figure out what to do. Julian woke up around seven o'clock. He rubbed his temples and pushed open the study door. Wearing dress pants and a light blue dress shirt, his broad shoulders and narrow waist were accentuated. I was never one to obsess over looks, but I was still often caught off guard by how handsome he was. Seeing me sitting there, he paused and asked what was wrong. I shook my head: "Nothing. I'm planning to ask for some time off from the company." Julian smiled and reached out to ruffle my hair: "You can just quit if you want. It's not like I can't support you." I gently dodged his hand. Julian's hand hovered awkwardly in the air before he retracted it, looking a bit unnatural: "Why the time off?" "I'm just tired lately." It was a valid excuse for a working adult. I had been grinding for nine years; it was about time I felt tired. I had been working part-time since freshman year of college. When we first graduated, I was the one supporting Julian. Back then, Julian had cut ties with his family to start a business with his best friend. We were renting a tiny apartment and living paycheck to paycheck. To save fifty dollars on rent, I took a subway commute that was an hour longer. For an 8 AM shift, I had to wake up at 5:45 AM. When I worked overtime until 9 PM, by the time I got home and washed up, it was already past 11 PM. I would fall asleep the second my head hit the pillow. Back then, we had neither time nor money. At our most extreme, Julian and I went an entire week without speaking a single word to each other. But no matter how late, he always came home. Once, he forgot his keys. I woke up in the middle of the night, realized he wasn't beside me, checked my phone messages, and opened the door to find him asleep outside. He was afraid knocking would wake me, so he just decided to catch some sleep out in the hall. Our poorest time was the winter of our first year out of college. My company delayed my salary for two months, and by the end of the year, we were genuinely broke. That day, Julian came to pick me up at the subway station. We walked across the overpass from the station. A new hot pot place had just opened underneath. Spicy beef tallow broth was their signature dish. There was a long line, and the steaming, fragrant mist hit you right in the soul. Julian said that when we had money, our very first meal would be hot pot, right at that place. We’d order a split pot—mild beef tallow and tomato broth—and ten plates of sliced lamb. "Why ten plates?" "Five to look at, five to eat," he said. "Gross. I refuse to eat hot pot with someone who orders a split pot." "How can you be so prejudiced against half-and-half broth? I don't even judge people who put pineapple on pizza..." Before Julian could finish, he choked on his own saliva and started coughing violently. I panicked and patted his back. While I was patting him, our eyes met. We suddenly started laughing. We laughed so hard we doubled over, drawing stares from people passing by. Thinking back now, I don't even know what was so funny. We were probably just finding joy in our misery. Later, we finally had some money, but that hot pot place had closed down. We never got to eat there. Once you start reminiscing, it's hard to stop. Thinking about the past, my eyes suddenly welled up with tears. "Why are you crying?" Julian suddenly panicked, hurriedly wiping my tears. "Don't cry." "It's nothing. I just don't want to go to work. I'm too tired." I leaned against him. "Be good. You rest up. If management doesn't approve your leave, we'll just quit, okay?" Julian crouched down and looked at me very seriously. The gentleness in his eyes was almost overflowing. Eight years had passed. The impulsive, reckless rich kid had grown into a mature man. I knew I shouldn't, but looking at his face, I couldn't bear to let go. I hesitated, but still reached out and tugged his shirt slightly: "Julian... could you stay with me today...?" I thought to myself, If he stays with me, I'll lay everything out and explain it to him clearly. Whether we break up or stay together. We’ve been together for eight years; there has to be a resolution. "I have a very important meeting today, but I'll come back early. You catch up on sleep, binge a show, read a book, and I'll be back before you know it, okay?" I let go of his shirt. Julian tucked me in, kissed my forehead just like he always did: "Be good and get some sleep. I'll do all the dishes this month, deal? Next month is your birthday, I'll buy you whatever you want, okay?" I nodded, and Julian finally relaxed. I watched him gently close the bedroom door, followed by the sound of the front door closing. I was alone again. 5 "I agree." I looked down, signed my name, and pushed the organ donation registry form toward the female doctor. The doctor’s last name was Anderson. She had a pale complexion and looked only a few years older than me. She asked me with deep concern: "Do your family members agree? If your family disagrees when the time comes, they can revoke it on your behalf." "I don't have any family." I smiled. "Donate whatever is usable." If I donated, at least someone would visit my grave periodically. I looked at her, keenly catching the fleeting flash of pity on her face. "Don't worry about it. It's really fine." "...Actually, your situation isn't entirely hopeless. You need to stay optimistic. Mood greatly affects the illness." She seemed even more anxious than I was. "Chemotherapy and targeted therapy will affect the fetus, so I don't recommend..." "I know." I had Googled it. If it was early-stage, I could try to save it—maybe both mother and child would survive. But for late-stage cancer, doctors strongly advise against keeping the baby. If I had family with me, the doctor might have played along with them and told me my illness was actually very mild. I read on a forum yesterday that sometimes, if you lie to patients and keep their spirits up, miracles really do happen. Unfortunately, I had no one to lie to me. I couldn't just leave a child alone in this world, isolated like me. "...At seven weeks pregnant, roughly how big is the baby?" I lowered my head and smiled. "Actually, I haven't felt a thing." "It has a heartbeat." "So its heart is really beating?" "Yes." Dr. Anderson must have really loved children; she couldn't help but smile softly when she said it. "That's so nice." I did the math. If everything had gone smoothly, the baby would have been born next May. If everything had gone smoothly. Seeing my expression, she hesitated, then wrote down a note and handed it to me: "This is my phone number, my WhatsApp is the same. If anything happens, contact me directly." "Thank you so much, Dr. Anderson." The bus ride back was very crowded. I sat in my seat and sent Dr. Anderson a message: "Hi Dr. Anderson, I looked it up online. They said pregnancy nausea is similar to late-stage symptoms. I can't eat anything. I can't really tell the difference." While waiting for Dr. Anderson's reply, someone suddenly shoved me: "Young lady, these seats are for the elderly, disabled, and pregnant. Get up and let this gentleman sit." An elderly man with gray hair but a sturdy build stood in front of me, flanked by a self-righteous middle-aged woman. "Young folks are strong and healthy, standing for a bit won't kill you." The rest of the bus chimed in, echoing her sentiment. I pulled out my medical record book and smiled: "I'm pregnant and have stage-four stomach cancer. I'm dying soon. Can I sit for a little while?" The entire bus went dead silent. In that moment, I felt like the collective conscience of everyone on board had just been put on trial. I didn't know why, but saying those words out loud suddenly made me feel incredibly liberated. Right. I was going to die soon anyway. What was there left to be afraid of? 6 "I want hot pot." From the bubbling, spicy beef tallow broth, Julian fished out a slice of beef tripe after fifteen seconds and placed it in my bowl. I took a small bite. It was very crisp and tender. But I couldn't swallow it. Since two days ago, I noticed that swallowing had become incredibly difficult. My stomach had started hurting half a year ago, and occasionally I'd feel nauseous. I thought it was just because I often skipped breakfast and had irregular eating habits. When I was in college, I ate whenever I could, never at consistent times. My body had been giving me warnings for a long time, but I never paid attention. Pretending to wipe my mouth, I secretly spit the tripe into a napkin. "I still prefer the non-spicy broth." I said that just to let Julian tease me for contradicting my past self. Suddenly, his phone screen lit up. He looked down and quickly replied to the message, a faint smile on his face that he didn't even notice. I propped my chin on my hands and watched him. Sometimes I wondered, why did I have to be the one to get sick? Why do people who hurt others get to live long, healthy lives? The birthday song started playing. The Haidilao staff were already walking over, pushing a cake and carrying LED signs. He lit the candles for me, put down his phone, and watched me make a wish. Julian, you have to live a long, long life. "Do you like the gift? I really did my research." Julian started fishing for compliments. It was a horn comb, smooth and elegant. "I love it." I smiled and nodded. "Julian, after dinner, I want to go see our new house." "Okay. It's your birthday today, whatever you want." Julian leaned over to buckle my seatbelt. When he brushed against my arm, he frowned: "Why are you so skinny? Are you dieting? I told you I don't mind if you gain weight." "I haven't had much of an appetite lately." How should I put it? Sometimes he was actually quite oblivious. Over these past two months together, I hadn't told him my period was here so we couldn't be intimate. I hadn't curled up in bed groaning about cramps either. And he had completely forgotten to ask. I thought of the WhatsApp message Mia sent him, one of them was asking for time off for period cramps. "Boss Vance, tummy hurts." "What's wrong?" "Girl problems, I can't tell you!" The sticker was a little cat rolling around on its stomach. Julian approved two days off for her, and she happily replied with a "Love you!" Julian didn't reply again. The car window was cracked open slightly. The evening breeze, carrying the scent of camphor trees, blew past my ear. Outside was the colorful neon nightscape of the city. Honestly, I didn't believe Julian would actually cheat, because the evidence was too flimsy. The manipulative, try-hard tactics of a fresh college grad were transparent to me. The torn wrapper might have been placed there deliberately. Delaying the marriage license might not have even been because of Mia. He didn't necessarily fall in love with Mia, but when it came to his love for me, he was definitely wavering. He could have chosen a male colleague to drive him home. He could have politely shut down her boundary-crossing texts. He could have chosen not to reply instantly. He could have loved me just a little bit more firmly. Just like that Christmas Eve. If he had hesitated for even a single second when I was being humiliated, I would never have left with him. Love is a firm choice. Love doesn't waver. Once it wavers, taking that step across the line is only a matter of time. It was the perfect time for an evening stroll. Walking into our new building complex, we saw many neighbors and noisy children running around. One little boy was running too fast and crashed into me. I instinctively shielded my stomach. "I'm so sorry! Leo Smith! Get over here and apologize right now!" The boy's mother dragged the little boy over to apologize to me. "The lady is so thin, what if you knocked her over?!" The mother had a booming voice that instantly cowed the boy. "If you bump into someone elderly, frail, sick, or disabled, the police will lock you up..." The boy wilted, keeping his head down and staying silent. "It's totally fine." I quickly crouched down to comfort him. "I'm not hurt." "Do you guys live upstairs?" the mother asked. "Yeah. We haven't finalized the renovations yet, so we're not in a rush." "So you guys are getting married soon?" I froze and looked up at Julian. Before Julian could answer, the elevator doors opened, interrupting the conversation. The apartment was still bare concrete. We originally chose it because of the great natural light. Across the street was a kindergarten, and two blocks away were an elementary and middle school. I opened the windows and turned on the lights. The gentle evening breeze filled the room, suddenly bringing a bit of life to the empty space. I held Julian's hand, smiling as I pointed to the school across the street: "Do you remember? When we bought this place, you told me that if we get called in for parent-teacher conferences, it would be super convenient. You said we'd play rock-paper-scissors, and the loser would go get yelled at." Hearing me say that, Julian suddenly laughed. "I remember. You even asked why it had to be a scolding." "And then what did I say?" "You said that if the kid was like you, they’d definitely be winning awards, and we'd be speaking as 'Outstanding Parents.'" "The bedroom is big enough to put up a partition for two desks. When you were a sophomore, you had to stop gaming because of space. I always felt bad for you." "The kitchen needs a good exhaust fan. You'll definitely want to have hot pot at home." "You said we could build a Lego wall here. To build Legos with our daughter in the future." I stood beside him, smiling as I watched him open the Pandora's box of memories. All those moments of loving me—he actually remembered them. But when did the hand that once held mine so tightly let go? In a daze, the suited, mature man in front of me slowly overlapped with the reckless, arrogant boy who had grabbed my hand and run into the night on that Christmas Eve. They looked alike, yet so different. I didn't want to cry, but tears suddenly started falling. Julian froze, frantically trying to wipe away my tears: "Why are you always crying lately? Are you overthinking things again?" I rested my head on his shoulder. After a long pause, I said in a muffled voice: "Julian, I really want to go back to the past..." "The past? You mean when we were broke? What was so good about that? Starving and swallowing our pride every day. It's nothing like now. We can eat hot pot whenever we want, you can take ten days or half a month off work..." He was right. We were so poor back then. We starved and suffered every day. What was so good about it? But why did I miss it so much?
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