“The test results confirm late-stage stomach cancer. It’s terminal.” My husband Mark didn’t even wait for me to process the news before he shoved me to the floor. “Why waste money on you? Chloe needs it for her business!” I never imagined that on the day I received my terminal diagnosis, my husband would be transferring our life savings to another woman. In desperation, I tried to sell my jewelry, only to learn every piece was fake. “Of course I swapped them out,” Mark sneered. “Did you think I’d let you waste our future on a corpse?” Just as I reached my lowest point, the hospital called. There’d been a system error in the lab. “You’re perfectly healthy, Ms. Miller. The cancer is your husband’s.” “Mark, my hospital admission is tomorrow. Is the money ready?” My husband walked out of the kitchen eating fruit, ignoring me completely. “What money? It’s gone.” I stared, frozen. He’d never spoken to me like this in all our years of marriage. “What do you mean,gone?” “I gave it to Chloe.” He didn’t care about my reaction, already sitting down to continue his meal. Hearing that name stunned me. That was my life savings, my medical fund! How could he do this? And for Chloe Davis! What the hell was happening? Under my frantic questions, he lost his patience. “To fund her business, obviously! It’s an investment! Don’t you know what that means?” Days of psychological torment had left my nerves in shreds. That was the final straw. That broke me. I lunged at him, hitting and kicking, even knocking over the fruit plate. “Mark Thompson! That’s my life savings! How dare you!” The next second, he pushed me hard to the floor, where I landed with a painful thud. “You crazy woman! Chloe needs money for her shop! What’s wrong with me giving it to her?” “You’re in late-stage stomach cancer, it’s incurable! What’s a dying woman fighting a living one for? You can’t expect Mom and me to lose everything, can you?” I sat there, stunned on the floor, seeing my husband as a complete stranger for the first time. Before this, Mark would never have treated me this way. We met in college, navigated our student years together, and eventually walked down the aisle. He never cared that I was an orphan; he even sympathized with how hard I’d worked over the years. Friends and classmates always praised him. How could he have changed so completely? These past few years, he’d been nothing but attentive. We’d never even had such a fierce argument. His drastic change started after our recent routine physical exam. The same exam that found my stomach cancer. Right after that, he gave our entire twenty-thousand-dollar savings to an outsider to start her business. It made me wonder what kind of man I had truly married all these years, or if he was merely wearing a human facade. Mark saw my dazed expression and softened his tone, continuing to explain his reasoning. “We only have twenty thousand dollars saved up. It’s not enough to cure you anyway.” “Better to invest the money in Chloe’s business. Once her capital returns, the money she makes can definitely save you. Sarah, just hold on a little longer. Would I really joke about your life savings?” I scoffed, saying nothing. It was all garbage. After years together, I knew exactly what Mark looked like when he was lying. Mark and Chloe Davis had probably been having an affair for a while. Now that I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, he clearly couldn’t be bothered to keep up the charade of a loving husband anymore. I felt a chill of disgust. Just then, Mrs. Thompson walked out from the back room, eyeing me disdainfully. “My son works so hard to keep this family afloat! What have you done all these years?” “And now you’ve got this money-pit disease! Dying is what you deserve!”
“What have I done?! Mom, you haven’t forgotten, have you? I paid half the down payment on this house!” I stood up, looking at the two of them and laughing out loud, finding the whole situation utterly absurd. “What have I done all these years? Why don’t you ask what you and your son have been doing!” “And I won’t even start on his relationship with Chloe Davis!” “Your son’s been jobless, all he does is some light cleaning! A grown man, and sometimes I even have to help him with that! Where exactly has he been ‘working hard’? Do I not have a job? My salary is barely enough to support all of us! So tell me, what have I done?!” Mrs. Thompson’s face was a stormy mess, flickering between expressions, as if she wanted to say something but was silenced by Mark’s glare. I gave a cold laugh and continued, “As for you, Mom, I always thought you were fair, that you’d side with me. But now, it’s clear you’re all cut from the same cloth! You’re the real family! And I guess I’m just…” Before I could finish, Mark slapped me across the face. My ears rang, and I clutched my cheek, glaring at him with fury. Since Mark lost his job, our entire household had relied on my income. He merely tidied up a bit, and suddenly it was his hard work? Where did he even work hard? And now he had the nerve to hit me?! “By rights, half the money in that savings account belongs to me!” They probably expected me to cry, but I stood my ground, protesting loudly, not a trace of fear in my eyes. Are you kidding me? I’m already dying! What do I have to be afraid of?! Hearing me say that, their faces were a sight to behold. They couldn’t refute it, as it was the truth, and couldn’t find an excuse to argue. I pressed on. “You have to give me the money! Otherwise, we’ll go through legal channels. Even if I can’t be saved, I’d rather see the money incinerated than let Chloe Davis touch a single cent!” “No way, Sarah. You can forget about it.” “I won’t give you a single penny.” Mark stared at me with chilling indifference. In his eyes, I couldn’t see a shred of affection for me. “Go ahead and sue for divorce if you’re so brave. But I’m telling you, Sarah, even if you do, I won’t agree. It’s just a cooling-off period, right? I can afford to wait you out!” “Since you’ve pushed it this far, I’ll just wait until you die! Then the money will still be mine!” I fell silent, looking at him in disbelief. Mark thought I was backing down and decided to offer a false comfort. “Sarah, why make such a fuss? Just be a good wife, and I’ll take care of you until the end.” Listening to his absurd words, I only felt regret. How could I have ever fallen for such a man? How could I have been so deluded as to use all my savings to buy a house and marry him? I looked around. This home, once so full of warmth, now felt chillingly cold.
I stood in silence, clenching my fists so tightly that my fingernails almost dug into my palms. Wait for death? No. I absolutely refused to accept such a fate, and I would never allow my money to simply go to Mark and Chloe. I forced myself to calm down, then suddenly remembered I still had gold jewelry. That meant I still had a chance to turn things around. For now, I had to pretend to back down. I claimed I’d been too emotional earlier, that I needed to calm down. The pressure was just too much. I’d even admit that maybe they had a point. After some careful maneuvering, my feigned emotions seemed to sway them. They probably thought, as an orphan, I had no one else to rely on but them. I sat on the bed in the bedroom, scanning the room, waiting quietly, searching for any possible opportunity. Sure enough, Mark had to leave in the afternoon. The moment Mark stepped out of the house, I knew this was my only chance. I quickly and stealthily searched the room, my heart pounding like a drum. However, just as I found the gold jewelry, Mrs. Thompson’s figure abruptly appeared in the doorway, her eyes filled with suspicion and wariness. “What are you doing in here?” Her voice was sharp and grating, like a knife piercing my heart. My mind raced. I quickly tossed the jewelry into the trash can in the corner of the room, then feigned composure, picking up a bag of garbage. “Oh, nothing. Just saw the trash can was full, so I’m taking it out. Mom, didn’t you say Mark works hard? While I’m not feeling too sick, I thought I could help a little.” “After all… I’ll still be relying on the family for my treatment.” Mrs. Thompson stared at me, half-believing, half-doubting, but seemingly found no further evidence to challenge me. She turned and left. I seized the opportunity to escape the room, with only one thought in my mind – to convert these jewels into cash, to at least buy myself a sliver of a chance at life. I walked into the jewelry store full of hope and handed my jewelry to the clerk. The clerk’s verdict was a lightning bolt. My jewels were all fakes, just gold-plated silver with almost no value. My heart plummeted, all hope vanishing in an instant. But I had personally bought these pieces for our wedding! How could this be? The gold-plated silver looked exactly the same! As I stood there, stunned and at a loss, Mrs. Thompson and my husband walked into the jewelry store, their faces alight with triumphant smiles. Mrs. Thompson’s tone dripped with mockery. “I knew you were up to no good! Good thing we were clever enough to have Mark swap out all the jewelry.” Mark, looking smug and calculating, stepped forward, grabbed my arm, and growled, “Good thing I was prepared, or you would have ruined this family! These jewels? I’ve already invested them with Chloe. She’ll make us even more money.” “And these gold-plated trinkets? Consider them your final farewell gift. Our last ‘kindness’ to you. You’re welcome.” His words were like sharp knives, slicing into my heart. I struggled in a rage, trying to break free from his grip. But my body, overcome by a sudden surge of anger, felt weak and powerless. My vision blurred, my ears filled with their mocking laughter and sneers. No! I can’t collapse here! I tried to clench my fists, to gather my strength. But overwhelmed by an indescribable hatred, I suddenly lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, everything around me felt both familiar and strange. I blinked, as if caught in a long dream, unable to discern the line between reality and illusion. All the furnishings in the room remained the same, but I could no longer find the warmth and peace of yesteryear, only a chilling emptiness and endless heartache. This so-called “home,” which I once believed was my safe haven, the final resting place after twenty years of turmoil, had now become the greatest torment of my life. From the moment I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, the atmosphere at home had completely shifted. Laughter and joy were replaced by coldness and distance; I felt like an outsider in my own house. Thinking about this, I let out a self-mocking laugh. Now, in this house, even my collapse wasn’t worth the extra expense of sending me to the hospital. My value, it seemed, had vanished along with that cruel diagnosis. My husband’s voice drifted from the living room, tinged with mockery. “Well, well, awake are we? I thought you’d sleep for days.” His tone carried no trace of concern, only indifference and disdain. He couldn’t even bother to pour me a glass of water. In the past, he would have brought me warm water without a second thought. I lay in bed, closing my eyes, unwilling to engage with his words. Mrs. Thompson joined the emotionless conversation, her laughter harsh and shrill. “You woke up just in time for dinner. You truly are a parasite, good for nothing but eating.” The spicy aroma that had been assaulting my nose told me exactly what was for dinner tonight. Sure enough, when I stepped out of the bedroom, I saw the dining table laden with various chili-loaded dishes. It was their silent taunt, their torment. I took a deep breath, forcing down my discomfort, and approached the table. On the table, red and green chilies intertwined, as if mocking my fate. I gave a cold glance, said nothing. Whether it was psychological or something else, I simply felt nauseous. I turned and went back to my room, leaving their triumphant laughter echoing behind me. In the living room, outside my door, my husband ate with gusto, making loud slurping and smacking sounds, which were particularly grating. He seemed completely oblivious to his own crudeness, and even began to complain. “Mom, next time don’t make the food so spicy. You’re so focused on tormenting your daughter-in-law, you forget about your own son. My stomach’s burning!” Mrs. Thompson, though reluctant, grumbled an acknowledgment. They’re openly saying they’re “tormenting” me now?! How badly do you want me dead! I stood behind the door, listening to everything, my rage and despair intertwined. I couldn’t stand this life anymore. I yelled, “I want a divorce!” My husband’s voice immediately responded, laced with amusement. “Go ahead. I’m not signing anything anyway. Just drag it out. Let’s see how long you can last.” His tone was full of confidence and coldness, as if he had seen right through my intentions. I froze, staring at the closed door, a swirl of emotions churning inside me. I knew that this path-divorcing through legal means-was clearly blocked. Mark’s message was clear. He would torment me like this, waiting for the sickness to sap the last of my strength. But I refused to simply wait for death. If one path was blocked, I would have to forge another.
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