When I was in the final stages of cancer, my husband, Lyndon Henderson, refused to take me home. Instead, he brought his childhood sweetheart, Sonya Aguilar, into our house. She was eating the meals I had cooked, wearing the pajamas I used to love. They were lying on the couch I had bought, kissing each other freely, completely disregarding my presence. Lyndon gently said to Sonya, “Justine won’t make it through the year. When she’s gone, I’ll donate her corneas to you.” Sonya asked, “Will she agree to that?” Lyndon ruffled Sonya’s hair and replied, “She’ll have to agree. What’s she gonna do? She won’t need them anyway.” “Justine won’t make it past the end of the year. Two weeks at most. When the time comes, I’ll stop all the life-saving measures. “Once she’s gone, I’ll donate her corneas to you. Then you’ll be able to see, and you won’t be fear at night.” Sonya asked excitedly, “Really?” Lyndon nodded with a smile. “But will Justine agree?” I had seen the consent form for body donation on my phone a few days ago. At the time, I thought it was just another cruel joke, like the ones I’d seen online. I thought someone must have noticed my condition and decided to mock me by sending it. But now, it seemed that Lyndon had signed it in my name as my husband. “She’ll agree, even if she doesn’t want to. What else can she do? She won’t need them anyway.” Lyndon said, and Sonya laughed. They laughed without any care. I hid in the corner of the kitchen, watching them embrace. At that moment, I felt I was like a third party of their love. I was in the late stages of cancer, and there was no cure left for me. My only wish was to go home, yet Lyndon had turned me away. “You’re doing fine at the hospital, aren’t you? Stop making a fuss. I’m busy with work, and I don’t have time to pick you up.” “Don’t call me again. If you need something, text me.” When he hung up, I stared at our chat history. It had stayed the same since last year… Back then, I had asked him: [Can I come home for a couple of days over the New Year? The other patients are all being taken home by their families, and I’m the only one left here.] But he didn’t respond. The last message was my ridiculous emoji. This time, I didn’t wait for him to pick me up. I didn’t want to die in the hospital. After being there for two whole years, I was desperate to go home. After all, it was my birthday. I just wanted to blow out the candles under the warm glow of the lights and make a wish, one that could never come true. I never expected to overhear those words from Lyndon and Sonya. After being rejected by him, I handled my own discharge and took a taxi home. The whole way back, the pain was unbearable. In the final stage of cancer, not even painkillers helped, but my desire to be home outweighed everything. I bought my favorite cake and stopped by the familiar market to buy some minced meat. Popping a painkiller, I made the meal. As I finished cooking a plate of pasta, I collapsed in the kitchen from exhaustion. When I woke up, I saw Lyndon and Sonya on the couch I had bought, kissing each other. They were entangled together, Sonya’s arm draped around Lyndon’s neck, gazing at each other lovingly. After a passionate kiss, Sonya pulled away from Lyndon’s embrace. “Why is there a plate of pasta here?” She touched the plate, which was still warm, and started eating it with a fork. Lyndon glanced at it and said, “Maybe the nanny made it. Our nanny does a good job, you should try it.” Sonya took a bite and nodded. “It’s really good!” Sonya forked a piece of pasta and fed it to Lyndon. He smiled as he ate it. But when he swallowed the pasta, he paused for a moment. Sonya asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” Lyndon shook his head. “It tastes just like the way she used to make it. It’s… almost like she’s still here.” Sonya pouted. “You’re thinking about Justine again, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Lyndon. I can’t cook like she did. You don’t hate me, do you?” Hearing her words, Lyndon picked her up. “How could I? Cooking doesn’t matter. I’m not short on money to hire a nanny.” Sonya mumbled, “But it was always Justine who cooked for you. You used to say you liked food made by your loved ones. Doesn’t that mean you don’t love me?” Lyndon shook his head, affectionately tapping her nose. “Justine was different. She liked taking care of people. Back then, my company was getting started, and hiring a nanny would’ve been too expensive. Justine was willing to cook. It was free and convenient.”
My hands gripped the phone tightly, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell whether it was the pain from cancer or the pain in my heart that hurt more. We’d been together for ten years, married for two. I hadn’t expected that I had become just a free, useful servant to him. Once, he had cried when he saw my hand burned by hot oil. When he heard I had cancer, he spent an entire day at the church praying for me. But now, when I was suffering so much, he was living a fairy-tale life with Sonya. No wonder, when I pushed open the door to our home, it felt so foreign. It turned out my presence was long gone from this place. All my photos had been replaced. The plants I had lovingly cared for were gone. Even our cheap wedding photo, the one we spent a few dozen bucks on, had been replaced with Sonya’s artistic portraits. Tears uncontrollably dripped onto my arms. “How could you be so cruel, treating Justine like this? Will you do the same to me someday?” Sonya’s tone held no sympathy, only a hint of triumph. Lyndon whispered, “You should know how I’ve treated you these past two years.” Sonya smiled at his words. Their intimate scene was reflected in the mirror, clearly visible in my line of sight. “When Justine’s life was at stake, you said you were scared, and I left her to come to you. What else could I do?” Lyndon’s words pierced my heart like a knife, deeply ripping it apart. That day, I didn’t know if I would survive. I was in so much pain that I almost wished I could just die right then. Tears kept falling, and all I wanted was to see my husband one last time. I feared I wouldn’t make it out of the operating room. I was afraid the last thing I would see was the cold, white operating light. I grabbed the doctor’s hand, begging them to let me meet my husband one more time. The doctors exchanged glances but didn’t say anything. At the time, I thought it was just hospital policy; no family was allowed in the operating room. But now I understand. Lyndon hadn’t been waiting outside at all. When I was hovering between life and death, he had abandoned me to comfort Sonya, who was scared of sleeping alone. However, I clearly remembered that when I woke up, he had cried. I thought, “Lyndon, you are such a good actor, making me believe that these two years, it was me who owed you, me who dragged you down.” “I really didn’t have any other choice but to call you. I know Justine’s really sick, but my eyes… I can’t see at night. I’m terrified, that’s why I called you.” She said this, crying pitifully. She acted as if she was the victim whose husband went to find his childhood sweetheart while she was clinging to life. Lyndon clearly felt sorry for her. He gently caressed her eyes, speaking with a tone full of sympathy. “Once Justine is gone, everything will be better. “After the funeral, we’ll hold our wedding. The baby inside you will be a legal child.” While I was still alive, they were already planning how to make my death more meaningful. Sonya even told Lyndon, “I think Justine would be happy to know that her corneas are being donated to me. That way, she can always watch over you.” At this point, her voice even cracked with emotion. Lyndon smiled and called her a silly girl. I shakily stopped the recording on my phone.
As Lyndon held Sonya and was about to head to the bedroom, I stumbled out of the kitchen, fighting through the searing pain. The three of us looked at each other. The moment was awkward yet absurd. Lyndon had even forgotten to release his grip on Sonya, and all he managed to say was, “What are you doing here?!” I pointed to the cake on the table that I hadn’t had a chance to put in the fridge yet. I gave a bitter smile. “Is it so wrong to come home for my birthday?” Lyndon suddenly grabbed my hand. “I’m taking you back to the hospital!” He didn’t offer any explanation. He simply started pulling me towards the door, but I yanked my hand out of his. “What are you doing? Do you even know what illness you have? How can you come back here at a time like this?” he asked, shouting at me. Sonya chimed in softly, “Justine, you’re so sick, you really shouldn’t be running around. Don’t make Lyndon worry. “Lyndon, hurry up and take Justine back to the hospital. What if something happens?” I didn’t respond to them. Instead, I walked straight to the dining table. I took out a lighter, lit the candles, and stuck them into the cake. This was from Lyndon’s favorite bakery, the one we used to visit together. Earlier today, the owner had even told me that Lyndon had come in a few days ago, bought a new cake, and asked if it tasted good. At that moment, I thought Lyndon remembered my birthday and had planned a surprise, even buying the cake in advance. Now, I realized this cake was for Sonya. “Justine, don’t push me. What if you die here? It’s bad luck!” I ignored him and silently made a wish. I pressed my hands together and whispered, gazing at the flickering candles, “I hope Lyndon and Sonya stay forever, bound to each other, and have a miserable death.” “Justine!” Lyndon’s voice rose in anger. “What are you saying? How can you curse us like that?” He stormed toward me, his hand raised, and slapped me across the face. I wanted to fight back, but I had forgotten that I was in the final stages of cancer. I didn’t have the strength. He grabbed me by the collar, pointing at me. “If you’re going to die, just die! But don’t drag Sonya into it. You’re so malicious! You can’t be so mean to Sonya!” He snatched up the cake from the table and shoved it into my mouth. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Eat it. After you’re done, get back to the hospital!” The cream smeared across my face. Sonya walked up with her phone in hand. She happily snapped a few photos of my disheveled state and posted them online. [I’m celebrating Justine’s birthday with Lyndon today. She’s so happy!] she wrote. She handed me the phone, a smug look on her face. “Alright, Justine, birthday’s over. Time to go back to the hospital. Lyndon and I are going to the movies. We don’t have much time.” She gave Lyndon a look. Lyndon yanked me up from the table. I looked at his impatient face, and for some reason, I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny, Justine? I’m really fed up with you. You’re about to die, and you’re still causing trouble!” he snapped. He angrily started cleaning up the mess, and when he pushed open the kitchen door, he froze. There, on the counter, were boxes of pasta I had made earlier. He picked one up and stormed over to me. “You tell me! What did you put in this pasta? “Did you plan to poison us? Did you know about this from the start? Are you trying to kill us?” he demanded, his voice sharp with accusation. I was furious. I shoved the pasta off the counter, watching it spill and scatter across the floor. I stepped on it, crushing the noodles underfoot. “I made this for myself. It’s for me to eat. You touched it, so I consider it dirty!” “Justine, what’s wrong with you? You’re unbelievable!” Sonya cried. Lyndon pushed me aside and rushed to comfort her. Just then, the doorbell rang. Lyndon growled in frustration, “Who is it?! Is there some emergency?” “Hello, we received a report from Mrs. Henderson that someone broke into her home. We’re here to investigate,” the officer said.
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