On our anniversary night, I accidentally grabbed Julian’s Apple Watch to charge. The screen lit up, revealing a heart rate peak of 158. The location was Serena Vance’s room at Southside Medical Center. Serena. His first love. And that day, was the day I found out I had cancer. The same day, his pulse was racing in her room! Julian walked out of the bathroom, snatched the watch, and slid it onto his wrist, his expression annoyed. “Checking up on me again? How many times have I told you not to touch my things?” The words died in my throat. Ten years living together, and I wasn’t even his girlfriend. Then his expression softened. He pulled a ring box from his pocket. “Just a little longer. We’ll get engaged next month.” Always “next month,” I gave a bitter smile. But this time, I don’t think I’ll live to see your “next month.” He dropped the ring box onto the bed. “What? Even this isn’t good enough for you now?” Ten years ago, Julian was a broke medical student. I funded his PhD and his personal lab with the inheritance my parents left after they died of cancer. I was the one who gave up a full scholarship to Stanford, trading a brilliant future in biochemistry to become his unseen assistant. Over a decade, he rose from a man whose tuition I worked three jobs to pay into a top surgeon hailed as a “Rising Star.” And I sacrificed it all-my family’s legacy, my future, my very life. He’d forgotten. He chose to specialize in targeted cancer therapy because he vowed to conquer it for me. He promised I’d never have to be afraid. The ultimate irony? I am now the cancer he’s trying to conquer. Seeing me still stunned, the curve of Julian’s lips completely hardened. “Clara, I’m tired from work. I don’t have the energy for your mind games.” His voice held its usual dismissive coldness. He didn’t even look at me. “I have an early flight to Zurich for the summit tomorrow.” I gave a noncommittal hum. I didn’t get up to pack his luggage as I always did. Julian seemed taken aback by my uncharacteristic calm. He stared at me for a few seconds, then ultimately said nothing and turned into his study. The door closed, separating two worlds. I looked down at the diagnosis report, still warm and crumpled in my hand. Stage IV Lung Adenocarcinoma. Bone and brain metastasis. The doctor had said that with aggressive treatment, I might have six months. Without it, perhaps less than two. Curled up on the sofa, my body felt cold, as if I’d fallen into an ice cave. Julian didn’t emerge from his study until late at night. He didn didn’t even look at me, heading straight to the bedroom. That night, we lay back to back, separated by an unbridgeable galaxy. The next morning, he dragged his suitcase, ready to leave. Before stepping out, he stood in the doorway, turned, and squeezed my cheek. “Keep the ring safe, don’t lose it.” “Give me a smile when I get back, okay?” I looked at him, at his expensive, perfectly tailored suit-the one I’d helped him pick out last week. I spoke softly, “Julian.” “Hm?” He sounded a little impatient, glancing down at his watch. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wanted to ask him if I was dying, could he please not leave. But I knew the answer. He’d just think I was pulling another stunt for attention. “Never mind, it’s nothing.” Julian frowned, seemingly displeased by my hesitation. He pulled open the door without another look at me. After the loud slam of the door, the whole world fell silent. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it couldn’t bring a speck of warmth into my heart. I took out my phone and opened Dr. Miller’s SnapChat. The interface was still on yesterday’s chat. “Two paths. One is palliative care, slowly fading away amidst endless cancer pain and breathing difficulties.” “The other… go do the things you always wanted to do but never did.” My fingers trembled as I typed, one word at a time. “Dr. Miller, I’ve made up my mind.” “I choose the second option.” My fingertip hovered over the send button. I thought for a moment, then added another sentence. “And I’m willing to sign the organ donation agreement.” It was set for the day he would have made his thirteenth promise to get engaged to me.
Three days after Julian left, a live interview with him aired on the financial channel. He appeared as a rising star in the medical world, seated beside Serena Vance, the heiress to another pharmaceutical empire. On screen, they were hailed as “the Sun and Moon of the Industry.” A perfect match of talent and beauty. The host smiled and asked him charismatically, “Professor Vance, you’re a leading authority in cardiothoracic surgery. What inspired you to pursue medicine and choose such a demanding field?” Julian turned his head slightly, gazing deeply at Serena beside him. In that moment, the tenderness in his eyes was a sight I hadn’t seen in ten years. The camera perfectly captured a close-up beneath the table. Their hands, fingers tightly intertwined, seamlessly clasped. He spoke to billions of viewers worldwide, his voice carrying clearly through the airwaves into my ears. “To prevent the most important person from ever being lost to illness again.” As soon as he finished, Serena shyly lowered her head and added to the camera, “And I am that lucky person he snatched back from the jaws of death.” A wave of benevolent laughter and applause erupted on set. I gripped my cold phone, my stomach churning violently. Those tightly entwined hands were practically a public declaration of their relationship. So, his grand ideal of saving lives was for her. His entire motivation to become “the Bright Star of Medicine” was also for her. And me? What was I for these past ten years? A joke? A generous, foolish, self-deluded… sponsor? A fierce wave of dizziness washed over me. I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving for a long time. The side effects of chemotherapy were starting to show: hair loss, nausea, bone-deep fatigue. I dragged my broken body back to that empty house. The place I once believed would be my lifelong home. On the dining table, surprisingly, was a note he’d left, tucked under a thermos bowl. It was Julian’s bold, sweeping handwriting. “There’s porridge in the fridge. Stop dieting for the wedding, you’ve lost too much weight recently.” In that moment, I almost thought I was hallucinating. Ten years. It was the first time he’d ever actively prepared food for me. Choking back bitter tears, I fiercely crumpled the note into my chest, as if embracing a person I might never see again. That heart, which had long turned cold, actually felt a pathetic flicker of warmth. Maybe he still cared about me. Maybe he just wasn’t good at expressing it. With this meager hope, I trembling opened the lid of the thermos bowl. A rich, savory aroma wafted out. Inside was a meticulously prepared seafood porridge, plump shrimp and dried scallops clearly visible. My blood ran cold instantly. I was allergic to seafood. Severely allergic, enough to trigger anaphylactic shock. He had known this since the first day he pursued me. Because back then, I’d been rushed to the emergency room after accidentally eating some shrimp paste at a company dinner. And seafood porridge, coincidentally, was Serena Vance’s favorite food. I remembered, years ago, when he was still doing his PhD, Serena had been sick in the hospital. He had clumsily learned to make porridge, then carefully carried the thermos, taking a two-hour bus ride to see her. At the time, I, a fool, thought he was preparing a surprise for me. A tremendous sense of absurdity and sorrow completely overwhelmed me. He didn’t forget. He simply mistook me for her. With trembling hands, I replaced the lid, then tossed the bowl and the note into the trash. I thought, with a self-deprecating laugh. Even if I died from a cancer attack in the next second, he’d probably just think I starved myself to death from excessive dieting. But as a top doctor in the country, could he really not see that something was wrong with me? Or was he just choosing not to see?
I started packing up this apartment, which was permeated with his presence. All his lab coats, each one ironed without a single wrinkle, the cuffs always pristine white. All his shirts, from Armani to Zegna, hung meticulously arranged by color and fabric, filling the entire walk-in closet. Then there were the foreign papers I’d translated and the case notes I’d annotated during countless late nights. Together, they had nearly filled the entire study. Once, these were all testaments to my love for him. Now, they only served to remind me, again and again, of what a fool I had been. I called a moving company and had everything that belonged to me, every single item, packed up and taken away. Clothes donated, books and notes sent to the recycling center. Workers moved boxes in and out, and the large house quickly became empty. I sat on the bare living room floor, and a strange, hollow laugh escaped me. Julian, you have saved countless cancer patients. You became a god in their eyes, a beacon of hope in the media’s narrative. Yet you never once turned around to see that I, too, was sick. Stricken with the very illness you vowed to conquer. Finally, I understood. Completely. I walked with you from obscurity, step by step, to become the revered “Bright Star of Medicine.” But your light was never meant to shine for me. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Julian, his tone demanding, with his usual air of expectation. “Where’s the spare key card for my office? My assistant can’t get in, bring it over quickly.” Before, no matter when or where, if he said a word, I would drop everything and solve it for him immediately. I looked at the message, and calmly typed my reply. “Threw it away.” After a thought, I added, “I’m traveling. From now on, you handle your own affairs.” Send. Then, I turned off my phone, took out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the toilet. The flush sounded, like a trivial funeral for my ten years of absurd youth. Downstairs, the vehicle from the hospice care facility was already waiting quietly. I pulled a small suitcase containing only a few changes of clothes, and took one last look at the empty house. Goodbye, Julian. I don’t want to play this game anymore. I concede.
On the way to the hospice, my phone, which should have been off, vibrated persistently, like crazy. It was Julian, who had somehow found a satellite phone and called the driver’s spare phone directly. I hesitated, but answered. As soon as the call connected, his voice, unprecedentedly urgent and suppressing rage, came through. “Clara! What are you doing?! What’s all this about?!” “Serena developed a post-op infection, her condition is critical, and she urgently needs a granulocyte transfusion!” His voice was laced with undisguised panic and helplessness, yet he didn’t ask me a single question about my willingness. “You’re the only match for her in the entire database! Clara, you need to get to the hospital. Now!” I was utterly drained from a fresh cycle of chemotherapy, each breath tinged with the metallic taste of blood. My primary doctor had warned me in the most severe tone that, given my current physical condition, any form of blood donation or component transfusion could directly lead to immune system collapse and acute organ failure. It would be equivalent to suicide. Leaning against the car seat, I used almost every ounce of strength I had to force out a few words from my raw throat. “I… I don’t feel well. I can’t go.” On the other end of the line, Julian’s voice rose sharply, even tinged with incredulous anger. Yes, when had I ever refused him? “What could possibly be wrong with you? It’s just a little blood donation! Don’t be so dramatic!” “Have you considered the impact on the hospital’s reputation and my project if anything happens to Serena?” “Clara, I know you’re jealous of Serena’s success… but don’t throw a tantrum at a time like this. This is a human life we’re talking about!” Listening to his self-righteous roar, I suddenly found it incredibly laughable. Serena’s life is a life, and mine isn’t? After the ultimate despair, came an absurd calm. I couldn’t help but let out a low laugh. “Fine, Dr. Vance.” “But you might need to send someone over quickly.” I paused, feeling my life force slowly draining away from my body. “I’m afraid… I might not last until you get here.” “Otherwise, once I’m dead, the blood won’t be fresh anymore.”
I hung up, returned the phone to the driver, and told him to ignore any further calls. The car continued smoothly toward the hospice facility in the suburbs. I thought that would be the end of it. But I underestimated Julian’s callousness, and overestimated his remaining rationality. The car stopped at a temporary infusion center for my daily nutritional support injection. Just then, the door to the infusion room was violently pushed open. Serena stood in the doorway, her face pale, but with a sickly, triumphant smile. Behind her stood two tall security guards in hospital uniforms. “Clara, Julian told me everything.” She slowly approached, looking down at me, weak and lying on the chair. “I know you’re not feeling well, but I can’t wait.” My pupils constricted. Before I could react, the two guards stepped forward, pinning my arms down tightly! I struggled with all my might, but my post-chemotherapy body couldn’t muster an ounce of strength. One of the guards skillfully took out a component blood collection kit from a medical box; the thick needle gleamed coldly under the light. “What are you doing! Let me go!” I screamed hoarsely. Serena chuckled softly, then played a recording on her phone. From it, Julian’s voice, devoid of any emotion, came through clearly. “Her blood source is the safest. Use it directly.” “Make her donate! Whatever happens, I’ll take responsibility!” “I’ll take responsibility.” I hadn’t expected Julian to be so utterly ruthless, but I still struggled with my last remaining strength. I didn’t know if Serena’s illness was real or fake, but a cancer patient’s blood cannot be used! Choking back the metallic sweetness rising in my throat, I glared at the triumphant woman before me. “I have cancer. If you’re not afraid of dying, go ahead and use it, but don’t harm innocent people.” Serena scoffed, then suddenly looked pitiful as she glanced behind me. “I know you resent me for taking Julian from you, but you shouldn’t lie like this…” I had no intention of arguing and stumbled, trying to walk past her. But Serena suddenly collapsed to the floor, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at the person who had just arrived. It was Julian. Before I could react, a stinging slap landed on my face. A mouthful of blood finally spilled from my lips. Julian looked at me with deep disappointment, the delicate woman in his arms still softly sobbing. “Julian, please don’t blame Clara. She just said she has cancer, maybe… maybe she really has some difficulties.” Julian’s eyes showed a flicker of panic for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. “Clara, don’t test my patience with these crude tricks. I know you’re not sick. Today, even if I have to drain your blood dry, I will ensure Serena’s safety.” “Clara, I don’t like women who stoop to such lows.” I wanted to laugh for some reason. The lowest I’d ever stooped in my life was giving up my career to be his personal assistant. Actually, in the first few years, I really wasn’t sick. Julian was afraid of inherited cancer from our parents, protecting me like the apple of his eye. He said, “Clara, I wish for us to have many years together.” So he took me for full body check-ups every year. But he hadn’t called me Clara in years, and he hadn’t taken me for a check-up in a long time either. Now, he used that nickname for the sake of another woman. I stopped struggling and closed my eyes in despair. Julian, once this blood is drawn, I owe you nothing. You were with me after I lost my parents, giving me the courage to live. My life was a gift from you. Now, I’m giving it back. The cold needle, mercilessly pierced my vein. Blood began to be forcibly drained from my failing body, and my consciousness slowly blurred. When I next opened my eyes from the cold operating table, no one else was around. I struggled to push myself up, but stumbled and fell after only two steps. Perhaps my light was truly fading, I thought. It was a shame, I still had so many things I wanted to do. Just as I thought I would die there, I saw a pair of polished shoes step into my shadow. I expected it to be Julian, returned, but when I looked up, I saw an unexpected face. His face was as handsome as ever, but his eyes now held a mature sharpness, and he looked at me as if I were a pile of hopeless trash. He leaned down slightly, a familiar, cutting sneer gracing his lips.
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