The day I was diagnosed with kidney failure, my wife, Lydia, was celebrating the release of her first love, Asher Williams, from prison. And on the day I passed away, Lydia and Asher jetted off to a tropical island together. She often hurled insults at me, saying, “You filthy pig farmer, go die somewhere far away.” Yet when I actually died, she lost her mind and cut off Asher’s hand, screaming, “Give me back my husband’s healthy body!” How ironic. She had never once called me her husband before. Love that arrives too late is truly pitiful. 0 After two grueling days at the farm, I received a call from the doctor. His voice was somber, confirming what I had already suspected. Leaning against the fold-out bed in the break room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window’s reflection. My shirt was drenched in sweat, and my face was swollen, almost unrecognizable. Wes, my colleague, came in with a pot of water. He hesitated before speaking, “Brother Michael, why don’t you head home to rest? Your absence for days might worry your wife, Lydia.” Would Lydia really be concerned? I mulled over his words, a bitter smile crossing my lips. If I vanished, she might just relish her newfound freedom. I checked my phone: three ads for loans, two scam warnings, and a missed call from my mother. I called her back. She asked about my health check-up. In simple terms: death was knocking at my door. One kidney was already gone, and the remaining one was failing. The doctor insisted I needed immediate dialysis. But I didn’t tell her the truth. Five years ago, after being stabbed, losing a kidney, my mother couldn’t sleep, her hair turning gray almost overnight as she searched for a kidney for me. What was Lydia doing then? She cried every day at the hospital, pleading leniency for the man who stabbed me—her first love, Asher Williams. She claimed the Williams family wanted to settle privately, urging me to let it go. Five million. That was the price for my half-year hospital stay, two brushes with death, and a lost kidney. Back then, it felt like a fortune. I still remember Lydia’s expression when I refused to settle. She looked at me like I was the one who had been stabbed, glaring at her enemy. Finally, she spoke with humiliation, “What good does it do to oppose Asher Williams? His family is powerful; can you compete? Since you like me, let’s get married, and you take the settlement.” In the end, I seemed like the villain bullying a girl, while Asher was her childhood sweetheart. Yet back then, I was overjoyed. I even thought trading a kidney for love was worth it. But reality was harsh. Lydia quickly married me, and I took the settlement money. Still, Asher Williams was sentenced to five years. When Lydia found out, she called me shameless. I didn’t argue. It was already a light sentence. But she blamed it all on me. If I hadn’t pandered to her, she wouldn’t have stayed with someone as shameless as me. I was drowning in bitter memories when a bank alert woke me up. [Your account 8174 spent 678 RMB on a travel website on August 25 at 7:25 AM…] I frowned. This was Lydia’s card; she frequently used it for travel. The date made me uneasy. I called her, and after a long wait, she answered. I heard a taxi driver’s voice in the background. My heart sank, “Where are you going?” “Why do you care?” she replied, her tone impatient. “I’m your husband!” I shouted, for the first time raising my voice at her. “Are you going to see Asher Williams? He nearly killed me, and you still can’t let him go?” My words struck a nerve, triggering an explosive reaction in Lydia. She sneered, “You deceitful scoundrel, what right do you have to meddle in my affairs with him?” My vision blurred, my temples pounding, “I’ll work hard to give you a better life, just don’t go to him… I’m not feeling well…” “You filthy pig farmer, go die somewhere far away.” The call ended abruptly. Wes hurried over, calling my name. As I fainted, one thought lingered. If I truly died, would Lydia be sad? 0
When I regained consciousness, the familiar scent of disinfectant filled my nose. My mother was outside the door, crying softly. She knew about my condition. I wondered how much more her hair would turn white this time. I sighed silently. My sister was comforting her. I wanted to get up and see them, but my body felt like it was pierced by spikes, unable to move. The sound of the dialysis machine was my lifeline. Not long after, I heard my sister making a call. “Lydia, my brother is in a coma in the hospital, and you’re out having fun. Do you even have a heart?” I didn’t hear the response, but my sister was furious. “My brother could have raised a dog for five years and developed feelings for it. If it weren’t for him, you would have been ruined by Asher Williams five years ago. How do you even deserve to be my sister-in-law?” Her voice faded away. I recalled the life-and-death struggle in the hospital. Five years, over eighteen hundred days, and I couldn’t warm her heart. The idea of time breeding affection was just a consolation for the disillusioned. How laughable. During the week I spent recovering in the hospital, my mother and sister took turns staying with me. I tried to forget everything related to Lydia. When Wes brought the farm’s accounts to me, my sister scolded him harshly. “You’ve been with my brother for three years; haven’t you learned anything? Even if my brother turns to ashes, you have to burn paper for him and ask how to handle a sow’s premature birth, right?” I smiled, making “ho ho” sounds, trying to smooth things over. Wes was solid and reliable, and my sister was almost ready to marry him; I didn’t want to cause a rift because of myself. During this time, Lydia called. My sister was on high alert. I stared at the flashing number, deep in thought, and wrote a note on the whiteboard for my sister to relay. The call connected, and her familiar soft voice came through: “What do you want?” After waking up, I called her over ten times, but she never answered. Now, she finally remembered me. My sister snorted coldly: “You’re really busy; we won’t serve you anymore. Just divorce my brother and get out of the Johnson family.” There was a long pause on the other end, “Let Michael Johnson tell me that himself. If there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up. I’ll be back on Sunday, tell him not to pick me up.” “Lydia, you…” I patted my sister, calming her down. She leaned on the bed, upset. “Brother, make sure she leaves with nothing. Asher Williams is out, and Lydia deserves a jerk for a match. “Brother, you have to be okay, wait for Lydia to regret it, and slap her hard in the face.” She forced a smile, but her eyes, swollen like walnuts, were brimming with tears. Both kidneys failed, along with acute heart failure. I became a mummy on the hospital bed, skin gray, unable to speak or walk. The only thing I could give Lydia was the freedom she always wanted. The lawyer soon came to finalize the divorce agreement, including my will. When I could no longer sit up, I refused dialysis and wanted to be discharged. The house was filled with new roses. On Valentine’s Day, Lydia threw aside the bag I gave her, saying everyone else had 999 roses. Later I bought roses, and she scolded me for having no originality, tossing them all away. I knew she liked them, so I picked them up and kept them alive. In college, I also gave her roses, and she happily kissed me. Like clouds brushing across my cheek, leaving a blush. Then Asher Williams appeared, and my world was shrouded in darkness. Roses wilt without water; she wouldn’t see them when she returned. My sister tearfully called me an idiot. I stopped breathing at the end of summer, dying in the twentieth year of knowing Lydia. Flashes of memories crossed my mind, recalling many moments with her. In elementary school, I held her hand to buy candy at the store. In middle school, I helped her with math, and she playfully distracted me with fruit. In college, I pulled her out of a club, and she slapped me, telling me to get lost… 0
It turns out, even in death, I could see myself. I floated in the air, seeing someone lying in the living room, face ashen and swollen like a bloated corpse. I was glad Lydia didn’t see how I looked when I died, thinking this, my soul suddenly drifted to her side. Whenever she returned from a trip, I used to pick her up. This time, she didn’t want me to come because she was with Asher Williams. They were laughing and talking at the airport, not looking like they just returned. Asher had a buzz cut, wore casual clothes, still looking sharp and arrogant. When he looked at Lydia, there was a strong sense of possession in his eyes. Their destination was Hawaii. While I was suffering from illness, they went on a tropical getaway. I couldn’t help but follow Lydia. Asher joked about carrying Lydia’s bag, which she dodged. “Why didn’t you bring the bag I gave you? This bag looks really ugly, did Michael Johnson give it to you? He hasn’t called you in days, is he mad because you came to see me?” Lydia frowned, “Don’t mention him.” Asher’s face lit up with a smug smile, “My bad, I shouldn’t mention the man who stole five years from us. I remember you saying you wanted your honeymoon to be in Hawaii, now our reunion trip isn’t too late.” During my struggle with illness, Lydia and Asher went on a couple’s getaway to an island. I found myself unable to stop tracking Lydia’s actions. Asher Williams cheerfully offered to carry Lydia’s bag, but she sidestepped him. “Why aren’t you using the bag I gave you? This one looks terrible. Did Michael Johnson give it to you? He hasn’t called you in days. Is he upset because you came to see me?” Lydia frowned, “Don’t bring him up.” Asher smirked, “My bad, I shouldn’t have mentioned the guy who took five years from us. I remember you once said you wanted to honeymoon in Hawaii. It’s not too late for our reunion trip now.” Lydia didn’t argue, but she kept glancing at her phone before boarding. Her calendar app reminded her that my birthday was in three days. I had set it up on her phone a month ago after much persuasion. Lydia impatiently swiped away the reminder and boarded the plane with Asher. To them, I was the thief who stole five years of their life. She despised me so much that she didn’t even want to speak my name. I remembered when we first got married, I was so joyful. Even while lying in a hospital bed, I couldn’t wait to plan our honeymoon. I filled a book with plans, including all her favorite foods, hoping to take her to the snowy mountains and grasslands she longed to see. But before I could show her all my love and anticipation, she found my plan book, tore it to pieces, and called me delusional. My joy and love were shredded and trampled under her feet. At that time, my beautiful dream had just begun. How could I let go of the only leading lady in my dream? But reality taught me that unrequited love leads nowhere good. 0
Asher brought Lydia to stay at a beach hotel. To my surprise, a third person joined them on the trip. It was Joan, Lydia’s best friend from college. Through Joan, Asher met Lydia and pursued her relentlessly. Joan mingled in these circles hoping to snag a wealthy husband, and Asher was one of her targets, leading to a fallout between her and Lydia. Back when Asher orchestrated a trap at the club to win over Lydia, Joan tipped me off, which led to my dramatic confrontation at the club. But now, Lydia happily welcomed Joan. Asher’s expression soured. Joan rushed over to hug Lydia, and her eyes gleamed like a bear spotting honey when she glanced at Asher. “Lydia, it’s been ages! How did you know I was dying to come to Hawaii?” As she spoke, her gaze lingered on Asher. Joan’s arrival was unexpected for Asher. The romantic candlelight dinner for two turned into a table for three. Asher ordered sea urchin sashimi for Lydia and wanted to feed her intimately. “Try this, we have plenty of time. I just ordered a cake to celebrate our reunion.” Lydia stiffened for a moment, staring at the dish as if lost in thought. She avoided Asher and said flatly, “Sorry, I’m allergic to seafood. You have it.” I watched her push away the plate of sea urchins and felt it was ironic. The one allergic to seafood was actually me. Lydia used to love seafood, but after we got married, I knew she had a cold uterus, so I often made soup for her and reminded her to eat less seafood. She found my nagging annoying. Now, without my interference, why would she use such a poor excuse to restrict herself? Asher’s face fell. Joan covered her mouth, laughing, eyes full of ridicule, giving Asher an out, “Lydia probably hasn’t had such a seafood feast in a long time. Don’t force it, Asher.” Lydia frowned and focused on cutting the cake. Asher grabbed her hand, “Lydia, how did you burn your hand? That useless Michael, he’ll just stay raising pigs in the countryside forever. You should’ve waited for me.” I instinctively wanted to smack his hand away, but my body passed through their clasped hands. Lydia shook off Asher, “It’s none of your business. Don’t touch me.” “Touch you?” Asher sneered, eyes brewing a storm, “If Michael hadn’t caused trouble and gotten stabbed by me, you’d have been with me long ago. I went to jail for five years because of him!” Lydia stopped, and Asher smiled triumphantly. The atmosphere at the table was tense, and Lydia was forced to drink a lot. Asher moved closer to Lydia, and she didn’t refuse. I felt bitter, but powerless to stop it. Without my interference, they were meant to be together. But the expected result didn’t happen. Asher was the first to get drunk. Lydia, with hazy eyes, looked at Joan, “Joan, we agreed on this…” Joan sneered, “I don’t know what spell you’re under. Asher doesn’t mind being a homewrecker…” Lydia wobbled to stand, and Joan quickly summoned a waiter to help her back to her room. She lay in bed, tapping away on her phone for a while, and sent me a message. 0 Soon, Lydia fell asleep, and I stared at the message. The previous message in our chat was from ten days ago when I told her I had to work overtime at the farm. Going back through dozens of messages, most were me reminding her to eat at work, or delivering warming soup during her period. If she was in a good mood, she’d reply once. Most messages went unanswered. This time, she proactively messaged me about her itinerary. I should be happy, but I can no longer reply to her. In the middle of the night, Lydia’s phone rang, and her sister’s choked voice came through, “Lydia, my brother is dead. Are you satisfied now? “When he was alive, you treated him coldly. Now he’s gone, you won’t even come back to see him?”
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