chapter 5

I woke up again in a private hospital room. White ceiling, white walls, white sheets.

The air was thick with the strong smell of disinfectant.

I moved my fingers, feeling utterly weak. Jimmy was sitting by my bed, reviewing a medical chart. Seeing me awake, he immediately set it down. "You're awake?" His voice was gentle, laced with concern. "How do you feel?"

I opened my mouth; my throat was painfully dry. "Water..."

Jimmy stood up at once, poured a glass of warm water, and used a cotton swab to moisten my lips bit by bit.

"You just vomited blood, and there are signs of a gastric perforation."

"You can't drink water for now. Try to bear with it."

His movements were light and gentle. I looked at him and asked softly, "How long was I asleep?"

"A day and a night," Jimmy replied. "Your condition was critical when you were brought in. Thankfully, we managed to stabilize you."

I fell silent. What was the point of being stabilized?

It only postponed the date of death by a few days.

"Ethan?" I asked instinctively.

As soon as the word left my mouth, I regretted it. Why did I still care about him?

A complex look flashed in Jimmy's eyes. "He's been outside the whole time."

"Won't eat or drink, refuses to leave."

"Sophia, you two..." He trailed off, hesitant.

I twitched the corner of my mouth into a self-mocking smile.

"We have nothing to do with each other anymore."

I felt under the pillow and pulled out the already-signed divorce agreement, handing it to Jimmy. "Dr. Clarke, could I trouble you to give this to him?"

Jimmy took the agreement and was silent for a long moment. "Are you really sure about this?"

"Yes," I said, closing my eyes, not wanting to say another word.

Jimmy didn't ask further. He took the agreement and walked out.

Soon, the sound of a fierce argument erupted outside.

"I won't sign it! I'll die before I sign!"

It was Ethan's voice.

Hysterical, filled with rage.

"Where is Sophia? I need to see her!"

"Mr. Martens, please calm down."

"The patient needs rest."

"Get out of my way! All of you, get out!"

This was followed by the sound of something being smashed and the startled cries of nurses.

The door to my room burst open. Ethan practically stumbled into the room.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face covered in stubble, his suit wrinkled, and the dark stain of blood still visible on his chest. There was no trace left of the dignified, elite CEO he usually was.

He rushed to my bedside, his eyes red-rimmed as he stared at me. In his hand, he clutched a familiar-looking diary.

I was stunned.

That was my diary. The one I had hidden in the walk-in closet at the Martens house.

How did it get into his hands?

"Sophia..." His voice was broken. "This... I went back yesterday... to get you some clean clothes..."

"And it fell... it fell open... I saw..."

He couldn't continue. He just trembled as he opened the diary. The pages inside were yellowed with age but preserved perfectly flat.

On the cover, it read: [Daily Notes for Eth]. The first page was dated the day we got our marriage certificate. [May 20, 2019]

Ethan doesn't eat chocolate, but he loves the dessert I make. I went to every supermarket in the city to find the flavor he likes best. Today he ate half a bowl more. I'm happy.

[June 17, 2019]

Ethan's birthday. He just said "whatever," but I secretly found that limited-edition model kit he collected in college and had someone repair the broken corner. When he opened the box, the corner of his mouth lifted for 0.5 seconds. I timed it with a stopwatch. That 0.5 seconds is enough for me to cherish for a year.

[September 3, 2019]

Ethan ran out of his stomach medicine and refused to go to the hospital. I stayed up two nights, carefully opening the imported pills, dividing them into small packets by dosage, and putting them in the hidden compartment of his briefcase. He still hasn't noticed the packaging changed. Good.

[January 1, 2020]

Ethan didn't come home until 2 AM. I made him hangover soup and waited for him in the living room. The first thing he said when he walked in was, "Why are you still up?" Actually, I wanted to say, "My love Eth, Happy New Year. Could you try to like me just a little bit this year? Even a tiny bit would be enough." But I didn't dare say it. I was afraid he wouldn't even drink the soup.

...

He turned page after page, his voice choking, almost unable to read. Until the last entry:

[July 14, 2022]

The doctor says I have mid-stage gastric cancer. If they remove half my stomach, I might live. But I don't want to tell Ethan. He's started smiling at me lately. I'm afraid if I tell him, he'll take it back.

Plop!

His tears fell onto the paper, blurring the ink in a watery smear.

Ethan fell to his knees before me with a thud, as if his bones had been removed. He clutched the diary, his knuckles white. "Sophia... it was you all along..." His voice was shattered beyond recognition. "You loved me for three whole years... and I... I was cutting out your flesh to pay a debt to someone else..."

He suddenly raised his hand and began slapping his own face, over and over. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he just kept repeating:

"I deserve to die... I deserve to die..."

I watched this completely broken man, but my heart was strangely calm. "Ethan, stop."

"What hurts are the days I recorded, not now."

He frantically grabbed my hand, his voice trembling. "Baby, give me one more chance, please?" His posture was lowered, his plea almost desperate.

Was this still the aloof, superior Ethan?

I looked at him, feeling only strangeness and absurdity.

"A chance?"

"I gave you three years of chances."

"It was you, time and again, who destroyed them with your own hands."

I used my strength to pry his fingers away from mine, one by one.

"Ethan, the game is over."

"I'm not playing anymore."

Just then, an unexpected figure appeared in the doorway to the hospital room. Behind him stood several stern-faced bodyguards in black.

The man's presence was overwhelming, his eyes icy, his voice deep and brooking no argument.

"Ethan, let her go."