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Every word cut deep, making it hard for me to breathe.
Liam withdrew his cold gaze and turned to leave.
Hubert glanced back, saw my misery, and asked softly, “You heard everything?”
said nothing. He stepped closer, trying to comfort me.
“Gabriella, I just feel bad for you…”
I cut him off. “Hubert, I’m tired. Can I be alone for a bit?”
He hesitated, then said, “Alright. But if you feel bad, call me. I’m here.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I troubled you before, and now I’m still troubling
you.”
Hubert was my and Liam’s senior in college.
When we first met, he didn’t know I was dating Liam and confessed to
- me.
Liam once saw him as a rival.
To avoid trouble, I kept my distance. But three years ago, when I was diagnosed, I found out he was my doctor. That was how we reconnected.
Life is always this unpredictable.
Maybe I was just too heartbroken. And jobless.
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This time, my illness came fast and hard. The pain kept hitting. I couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone be discharged. Painkillers stopped working.
I threw up blood all night and ended up in the ICU.
After five days of emergency care, I got a little better and moved to a regular room.
When I could finally check my phone, I instinctively opened my beauty
account.
It had been renamed to “Liam and Sandra“-now a couple’s vlog for them.
Their first video? Posted on October 22.
The title? “Wedding Prep Diary: Trying on the Dress.”
That day used to be me and Liam’s anniversary.
Sadness swelled inside me. I didn’t even dare to click the video. Instead, I opened my cancer account and posted.
“Day 1,042 of fighting the tumor. My three–year–old channel was wiped clean by my first love. Suddenly, I wonder–after I die, will he erase me from his memory too?”
My hands trembled. I couldn’t type anymore.
Liam was so cruel. He turned our anniversary into Sandra’s. He was still the male lead. But I was no longer his heroine.
***
It was the 20th day of my hospital stay.
Hooked up to IV nutrition, I suddenly got my appetite back.
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Hubert said, “That’s good. It means your body’s bouncing back. Eat whatever you want. You need strength to keep fighting.”
I thought of my favorite: Dante’s Ravioli.
After giving me another shot, Hubert finally let me leave the hospital alone.
I knew what he gave me–morphine.
I forced myself to the shop. Workers were tearing down the sign. The bold “Dante’s Ravioli” letters had smashed into pieces on the ground.
I found the owner. “You’re closing?”
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He sighed. “Yeah. Someone offered 500,000 dollars to buy the place. He said this shop holds too many disgusting, filthy memories. He wants to tear it down and turn it into a dessert café.”
I immediately thought of Liam.
Dessert cafés were Sandra’s favorite.
My heart ached like a fine needle–sharp, but faint.
The owner glanced at my skinny frame and swollen belly. He spoke kindly, “Ma’am, craving ravioli because you’re pregnant? The kitchen’s still here. I can make you one last plate.”
I held my belly and shook my head.
“Thank you. I wish you a lifetime of peace.”
I used to think “lifetime of peace” sounded corny. But now, standing at the end of my life, nothing means more than peace.
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I turned to leave, never telling him I wasn’t pregnant. It was ascites.
Before leaving, I snapped a photo of the message wall and posted it on my
cancer account.
“Day 1,057 of fighting cancer. I came to the ravioli shop I used to visit with my first love. The message I once wrote-“Let’s ride the last train of happiness together till the end“-is gone…
“He’s shining in happiness now. As for the last train… I got on alone.”
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