On the day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I sat outside the hospital clutching a positive pregnancy test, staring blankly into space. My phone buzzed—a call from Collier Gresham, my boyfriend of eight years. "Lillie, about getting married... can we hold off for a bit?" "Sure." He paused, clearly not expecting such an easy agreement, then muttered something about "not coming home for dinner tonight" before hanging up. Collier and I had been together since college—building a business, buying a home, planning a future. If not for this illness, maybe next year we’d have had a baby. But the doctor advised me to terminate the pregnancy and focus on treatment. I thought I wasn’t afraid because Collier would always be there for me—until that night, when he stumbled home drunk, propped up by Jen, the new intern. Her sundress was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and his suit jacket carried the faint scent of her orange blossom perfume. The cruelest twist? Finding the torn wrapper of a used condom in his car. In a single day, I lost my health, my relationship, and every hope I had for the future.

Chapter 1The day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I sat outside the hospital, staring blankly at the pregnancy test clutched in my hand.My phone buzzed. It was Collier Gresham—my boyfriend of eight years."Lillie, can we talk more about getting married later?""Sure," I replied."It's not that I don't want to marry you…"It seemed he hadn't expected me to agree so quickly. Collier went silent, then mumbled that he wouldn't be home for dinner before hanging up in a hurry.We'd been together since college—eight years. By now, we should be getting married.We'd started our business right after graduation. Last year, things had finally started turning around. We bought a car, put a down payment on a new place, and now we were just waiting for the renovations to finish.If I hadn't gotten sick, maybe by next year, I'd be holding a tiny, soft little baby in my arms, sleeping at my side.But tonight, Collier wasn't coming home. I made myself a simple bowl of pasta with greens and sat alone in the kitchen, wondering how to tell him the news.After all, we'd talked about it last year—promised we'd get married before the year was out.The doctor was a young woman, maybe just a few years older than me. She suggested I shouldn't keep the baby, that I should focus on treatment, and reassured me that being young meant my chances were good. "Don't be afraid," she said.But I wasn't really afraid. Not when I had Collier. He'd always been by my side.The doorbell rang. I was surprised—Collier never rang the bell.He stumbled in, clearly drunk, half-leaning on Jen, the new hire we'd brought on just last month—a fresh college grad."Hey, Lillie. We were out with a client, Mr. Gresham had a bit too much to drink. His car's downstairs," Jen said, cheeks flushed, smoothing her tousled hair. She wore a floral sundress that clung to her in all the right ways. "I just brought him up. I'll catch a ride home."Collier collapsed onto the couch, already half asleep.I took his suit jacket, which was faintly scented with Jen's orange blossom perfume."Thanks, Jen," I said, forcing a smile. "It's late, let me drive you back."She tried to argue, but I wasn't having it. "No way I'm letting you grab a cab alone this late," I said.As we drove, she glanced over and asked, "So, when are you and Collier getting married?"I hesitated, remembering what Collier had said on the phone earlier, and forced an awkward smile. "Maybe in a couple years, once the company's more stable."…Or when my health is."I see…" Jen looked out the window, lost in thought. Then she glanced down and smiled sweetly. "Got it."After dropping her off, I parked the car and remembered I'd left my vitamin E in the glove compartment. When I opened it, I noticed something wedged in the seatbelt slot—a torn square wrapper.Lubricating oil from inside the wrapper smeared my hand. I just stared at it, frozen.Suddenly, I remembered Jen's sundress, her flushed cheeks when she walked in.Collier's call that afternoon, and the way he avoided my gaze when he came home, feigning drunkenness.I sat in the passenger seat, dazed. So much had happened in one day, I didn't even know where to start.Collier and I had started dating our freshman year. He'd chased after me.Back then, I was working at a local diner near campus, saving up for tuition, when Collier—rich, handsome, and persistent—fell for me at first sight.To woo me, he ate at that beef stew place for an entire year, even though he hated it.The day I finally agreed to date him, he got so sick from the stew he threw up right there in the diner. To this day, he can't stand the smell.He knew I was proud, so he'd eat with me in the student cafeteria and secretly buy me fruit and milk, stuffing them into my bag. "What if my future wife gets malnourished?" he'd say, half-joking.He quit smoking for me. When cravings hit, he'd suck on lollipops in front of his baffled friends, cheeks red, proclaiming, "What do you guys know? This is what it means to settle down."I never did understand why Collier liked me.He was six-foot-two, good-looking, and came from money. But none of that mattered to him. He said he liked me, and that was that.He was stubborn—once he set his mind to something, nothing could sway him.I saw it that Christmas Eve when he took me home to meet his parents. I stood awkwardly in the foyer, clutching a box of store-bought fruit. His parents were polite enough, but when the staff began clearing the table, his mother coughed and signaled for Collier to speak with her in private.The lights in the house were blinding, brighter than the August sun, illuminating every flaw in my worn winter coat and faded jeans—my best clothes.I sat on the edge of the ornate sofa, legs pressed together, doing my best to shrink out of sight. The staff glanced at me, some whispering, their laughter sharp as knives against my pride.Then I heard his mother's voice, shrill and cutting."She must know you're wealthy, right? What could a girl with no family possibly give you?"It felt like someone stomped on my chest. I could barely breathe.I stared at the floor, digging my nails into my arm, telling myself not to cry.Then, the sound of a door slamming.Collier stormed back in, face thunderous, and grabbed my hand."We're leaving," he said."If you walk out that door, don't bother calling me your mother!" she yelled after him. "Don't expect a single cent from us!"Collier hesitated at the threshold—just for a moment. Then, turning back, he snatched the fruit I'd brought."You don't deserve it," he said.That night, the streets were empty, the city eerily silent. Even the subway had stopped running.We ended up walking to a hotel, the wind howling around us as we crossed the overpass.All across the city, warm lights flickered in distant apartments, like a sea of stars. But not a single one belonged to me.I didn't look back. I just lowered my head and whispered, "Collier, let's break up."He said nothing."Collier, I—"He unzipped his jacket and pulled me close from behind, his arms locking around me like I might vanish if he loosened his hold for even a second.He buried his face in my neck, and we stood like that for a long, long time.Suddenly, he spoke—softly, but with an unwavering certainty: "Lillie Vonnegut, I'll give you a home."When I returned, Collier was already asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of dreams. I tucked a blanket around his shoulders, careful not to wake him.My phone lit up—two unread messages from Jen."She made sure I got home safe, don't worry, Mr. Gresham!"Attached was a sticker: a cartoon girl winking and saying goodnight.I told myself I shouldn't doubt Collier, but I couldn't help scrolling up to read the rest of their conversation."Mr. Gresham, what'd you have for lunch today? Did she make it for you?""Yeah.""Oh, come on, you should eat takeout with us lonely single folks once in a while!""Tomorrow."That was two days ago. I remembered how, the next morning, Collier insisted I didn't need to get up early to pack lunch for him. When I asked why, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of my neck, and said he didn't want me to wear myself out. He was giving me a day off."Mr. Gresham, when are you two getting married?"Jen had sent a picture: a teary-eyed cartoon girl.Usually he replied right away, but this time, ten minutes passed before his answer came:"I don't know."He said he didn't know.I put my phone down. There was nothing else I needed to see.There were no inappropriate messages—just Collier, who always replied instantly to me and to Jen, always calling me "she" in their chats. Yet somehow, in those exchanges, it felt as if I was the outsider wedged between the two of them.I set the phone aside, stood up, and tucked my medical report and the pregnancy test into the bottom drawer of the study, right beside our savings book.Outside, the wind picked up. A light rain had just fallen, and now the air drifted in, thick and damp and heavy with summer heat. I closed the door and sat at my desk, staring off into nothing.When I got the results, I told myself I wasn't afraid, but that was a lie.I'd sat on the hospital steps for ages, watching people hurry past on the street, trying to figure out how I could break the news to him—how to make it sound easy, how to spare him pain.I thought, maybe I'd say it with a smile.Collier, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?If he said good news, I'd tell him he was going to be a dad.If he wanted the bad news, I'd tell him I was just teasing.Then he'd probably tap me on the head, and I'd confess the truth about the cancer.He'd hug me tight from behind, like he did before, whispering not to be scared.And I'd comfort him, tease him for worrying, and tell him I wasn't afraid at all.Or maybe I'd tell him the truth, crying—admit that I was terrified, scared of the pain, scared the treatment wouldn't work. That I was afraid of losing my hair, of not being able to wear ponytails or look pretty in dresses anymore.I'd tell him I couldn't bear to lose this child. We'd left one wall in the new nursery empty for LEGOs; he said we'd have a daughter, and he'd build with her, buy her all the pretty dresses she wanted.He'd probably say something ridiculously cheesy, like I'd always be the most beautiful woman in the world to him, that one day we'd have lots of children, and if this baby didn't understand, we'd just let him go.But before I could decide, the phone rang.He said he'd pick up our marriage license later that day.I agreed almost without thinking.He loved me so much, gave up everything for me—how could I let myself ruin his life?Part of me even wished he didn't love me anymore, so he wouldn't have to hurt.Maybe, in that moment, some god looked down and heard my wish.Because he really didn't love me the way he used to.I want to live, too—but I don't know if living would hurt less than the chemo.I sat in the study all night, the wind blowing through, and I still didn't know what to do.Collier woke at seven. He rubbed his temples and opened the study door.He looked striking in slate-gray slacks and a sky-blue shirt—the broad shoulders, the narrow waist. I've never been one to care much about looks, but somehow, his face always made my breath hitch.He saw me sitting there and froze, concern flickering across his face."What's wrong?" he asked.I shook my head. "Nothing. I think I'll take some time off work."Collier smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "You can quit if you want. I can take care of us."I shifted away from his hand, and it hovered awkwardly in the air before he let it drop."Why take time off?""I'm just tired."Counting all my jobs, I'd been working for nearly nine years. Maybe it was time to be tired.I started working part-time in college, and after graduation, I was the one supporting us.Back then, Collier had cut ties with his family and started a business with his best friend. We were living in a rented apartment, barely scraping by.To save fifty bucks on rent, I'd commute an hour longer. For an 8 am shift, I'd be up by quarter to six. If I worked late, I'd get home at eleven, wash up, and collapse into bed.There was no time, and no money. Some weeks, Collier and I barely exchanged a word.But no matter how late, he always came home.One night, he forgot his keys. I woke up and found he wasn't beside me. After reading his message, I opened the door and saw him asleep in the hallway—he hadn't wanted to knock and wake me, so he'd just dozed outside.The worst was our first winter. My company delayed my salary for two months, and by the end of the year, we were flat broke.That night, Collier met me at the subway station. We walked past a new diner under the overpass, its windows fogged with steam and the savory smell of stew drifting out.Their specialty was hotpot, and there was a line out the door. The warm, spicy air made my stomach ache with longing.Collier said, "First thing we do when we have money? We eat here. We'll get the mild tomato broth and the spicy house special—ten plates of lamb, too.""Why ten?" I laughed."Five to look at, five to cook," he grinned."Oh, please. I'm not sharing hotpot with someone who mixes the broths!""You're just stirring up trouble between the tomato and spicy fans. And I'm not even going to start on your love for sweet porridge—"Before he could finish, he choked on his own laughter. I patted his back, worried, but as soon as our eyes met, we both burst out laughing—helpless, unstoppable laughter, until passersby stopped to stare at us.Looking back now, I can't even remember what we were laughing about back then—maybe we were just finding joy in the little things, even when we had nothing.Later, when we finally had some money, that old diner we loved had already shut down. We never did get to eat there again.Once you start down the path of memories, it's hard to turn back.Thinking about the past, I suddenly felt my eyes sting with tears."Hey, why are you crying?" Collier sounded startled, immediately reaching out to wipe my tears away. "Don't cry, okay?""It's nothing. I just… I'm tired. I don't want to go to work anymore."I leaned into him, seeking comfort."Hey, don't worry. If your boss won't approve your leave, we'll just quit together, alright?" Collier knelt down in front of me, looking up with a tenderness in his eyes that almost spilled over.Eight years had passed, and the once reckless, spoiled Collier had finally grown into someone with a little more maturity. I knew I shouldn't, but looking at his face, I couldn't help but feel reluctant to let go.After a moment's hesitation, I reached out and tugged gently at his shirt. "Collier… could you stay with me today?"In my mind, I decided: if he stayed, I'd lay it all out—everything between us, no more secrets. Whether we broke up or tried again, after eight years, we deserved some kind of closure."I've got a really important meeting today, but I'll come home early. Get some rest, watch some shows, read a little. I'll be back before you know it, okay?"I let go of his shirt.Collier tucked the covers in around me, then kissed the top of my head, just like he always did. "Be good and get some sleep. I'll do the dishes for the rest of the month, okay? And next month is your birthday—whatever you want, I'll get it for you."I nodded, and only then did he seem relieved.I watched him quietly close the bedroom door, then the front door. And just like that, I was alone again."I agree."I bowed my head and signed my name, pushing the organ donor registration form across the desk toward the doctor.Her name was Adrienne. She was fair-skinned, maybe only a few years older than me, and looked at me with genuine concern. "Did your family agree to this? If they object at the time, they can override your decision.""I don't have any family." I smiled. "Just let me donate whatever I can."At least after I'm gone, someone will visit my grave from time to time.I looked at her and caught a flicker of guilt on her face."It's alright. Really, you don't need to worry.""Actually, your situation isn't as bad as you think. Try to stay positive—your mood really does affect your illness." Her voice wavered a bit, as if she was more nervous than I was. "Chemo and targeted therapy can affect the baby, so I wouldn't recommend…""I know."I'd done my research. If it's early stage, you can sometimes get through it and both mother and child make it. But if it's advanced, doctors rarely recommend keeping the pregnancy.If I had family, maybe the doctor would've teamed up with them to convince me things weren't so bad—just to keep my spirits up.Yesterday I read online that sometimes doctors lie to their patients, give them hope, and miracles happen.But no one's lying to me.I can't just leave my child to grow up completely alone in this world, like I did."How big is a baby at seven weeks?" I asked, trying to smile. "Honestly, I don't even feel anything yet.""There's already a heartbeat," Adrienne replied, and the thought made her smile a little, too."Really? So its heart is already beating?""Yes, it is." Adrienne clearly loved children; she couldn't help but smile as she spoke."That's wonderful."I did the math—if nothing goes wrong, the baby would be born in May next year.If nothing goes wrong.She hesitated, then scribbled something on a slip of paper. "This is my number—it's my WhatsApp, too. If you need anything, just get in touch, okay?""Thank you, Dr. Adrienne."The city bus was packed on my ride home. I managed to find a seat and sent Adrienne a message:"Hi Dr. Adrienne, I read online that both pregnancy and late-stage cancer can make you nauseous and unable to eat. I'm not sure how to tell the difference."While I waited for her reply, someone nudged me."Miss, these seats are for the elderly, disabled, or pregnant. Get up so this gentleman can sit." A spry old man stood in front of me, with a helpful middle-aged woman at his side."She's young and healthy—standing won't hurt her," the woman said, and the rest of the bus chimed in with their agreement.I pulled out my medical file and smiled, "I'm pregnant and in late-stage stomach cancer. I'm dying—do you mind if I sit a little longer?"Suddenly, the entire bus went silent. For a moment, it felt like everyone's conscience was being tested.Oddly, after saying it, I actually felt a weight lift from my chest.That's right—if I'm dying, what do I have to be afraid of anymore?"I want hotpot."The spicy, bubbling broth filled the air. Collier dipped a slice of tripe into the pot, waited fifteen seconds, then fished it out onto my plate.I took a small bite—crisp and tender—but couldn't swallow.For the past two days, swallowing has been a struggle.The stomach pains started six months ago. Sometimes I'd feel nauseous, want to throw up. I blamed it on my erratic eating habits—skipping breakfast, eating at odd hours, always rushing.My body had been warning me for a long time, but I never listened.I pretended to wipe my mouth, but really I was spitting the food into a napkin."I should stick to the mild broth," I said. Collier was about to tease me for changing my mind, when his phone lit up.He glanced down, fired off a quick reply, and a small, involuntary smile appeared on his lips.I leaned my chin on my hand and watched him.Sometimes I wondered, why did I have to be the one who got sick? Why do people who hurt others live forever, while I…The birthday song started. Waitstaff wheeled over a cake and a light-up sign.He lit the candles, put his phone aside, and looked at me as I made a wish.Collier, I hope you live a long, long life."Do you like your gift? I did my homework!" Collier grinned, eager for praise.It was a horn comb, smooth and warm to the touch."I love it." I smiled. "Collier, after dinner, I want to go see our new place.""Sure—it's your birthday. Anything you want."He turned to buckle my seatbelt, pausing when he felt my arm. His brow furrowed."Why are you so thin? Are you dieting? I never minded if you gained a little weight.""I just haven't had much of an appetite lately."Sometimes, he can be pretty oblivious.Chapter 2The day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I sat outside the hospital, staring blankly at the pregnancy test clutched in my hand.My phone buzzed. It was Collier Gresham—my boyfriend of eight years."Lillie, can we talk more about getting married later?""Sure," I replied."It's not that I don't want to marry you…"It seemed he hadn't expected me to agree so quickly. Collier went silent, then mumbled that he wouldn't be home for dinner before hanging up in a hurry.We'd been together since college—eight years. By now, we should be getting married.We'd started our business right after graduation. Last year, things had finally started turning around. We bought a car, put a down payment on a new place, and now we were just waiting for the renovations to finish.If I hadn't gotten sick, maybe by next year, I'd be holding a tiny, soft little baby in my arms, sleeping at my side.But tonight, Collier wasn't coming home. I made myself a simple bowl of pasta with greens and sat alone in the kitchen, wondering how to tell him the news.After all, we'd talked about it last year—promised we'd get married before the year was out.The doctor was a young woman, maybe just a few years older than me. She suggested I shouldn't keep the baby, that I should focus on treatment, and reassured me that being young meant my chances were good. "Don't be afraid," she said.But I wasn't really afraid. Not when I had Collier. He'd always been by my side.The doorbell rang. I was surprised—Collier never rang the bell.He stumbled in, clearly drunk, half-leaning on Jen, the new hire we'd brought on just last month—a fresh college grad."Hey, Lillie. We were out with a client, Mr. Gresham had a bit too much to drink. His car's downstairs," Jen said, cheeks flushed, smoothing her tousled hair. She wore a floral sundress that clung to her in all the right ways. "I just brought him up. I'll catch a ride home."Collier collapsed onto the couch, already half asleep.I took his suit jacket, which was faintly scented with Jen's orange blossom perfume."Thanks, Jen," I said, forcing a smile. "It's late, let me drive you back."She tried to argue, but I wasn't having it. "No way I'm letting you grab a cab alone this late," I said.As we drove, she glanced over and asked, "So, when are you and Collier getting married?"I hesitated, remembering what Collier had said on the phone earlier, and forced an awkward smile. "Maybe in a couple years, once the company's more stable."…Or when my health is."I see…" Jen looked out the window, lost in thought. Then she glanced down and smiled sweetly. "Got it."After dropping her off, I parked the car and remembered I'd left my vitamin E in the glove compartment. When I opened it, I noticed something wedged in the seatbelt slot—a torn square wrapper.Lubricating oil from inside the wrapper smeared my hand. I just stared at it, frozen.Suddenly, I remembered Jen's sundress, her flushed cheeks when she walked in.Collier's call that afternoon, and the way he avoided my gaze when he came home, feigning drunkenness.I sat in the passenger seat, dazed. So much had happened in one day, I didn't even know where to start.Collier and I had started dating our freshman year. He'd chased after me.Back then, I was working at a local diner near campus, saving up for tuition, when Collier—rich, handsome, and persistent—fell for me at first sight.To woo me, he ate at that beef stew place for an entire year, even though he hated it.The day I finally agreed to date him, he got so sick from the stew he threw up right there in the diner. To this day, he can't stand the smell.He knew I was proud, so he'd eat with me in the student cafeteria and secretly buy me fruit and milk, stuffing them into my bag. "What if my future wife gets malnourished?" he'd say, half-joking.He quit smoking for me. When cravings hit, he'd suck on lollipops in front of his baffled friends, cheeks red, proclaiming, "What do you guys know? This is what it means to settle down."I never did understand why Collier liked me.He was six-foot-two, good-looking, and came from money. But none of that mattered to him. He said he liked me, and that was that.He was stubborn—once he set his mind to something, nothing could sway him.I saw it that Christmas Eve when he took me home to meet his parents. I stood awkwardly in the foyer, clutching a box of store-bought fruit. His parents were polite enough, but when the staff began clearing the table, his mother coughed and signaled for Collier to speak with her in private.The lights in the house were blinding, brighter than the August sun, illuminating every flaw in my worn winter coat and faded jeans—my best clothes.I sat on the edge of the ornate sofa, legs pressed together, doing my best to shrink out of sight. The staff glanced at me, some whispering, their laughter sharp as knives against my pride.Then I heard his mother's voice, shrill and cutting."She must know you're wealthy, right? What could a girl with no family possibly give you?"It felt like someone stomped on my chest. I could barely breathe.I stared at the floor, digging my nails into my arm, telling myself not to cry.Then, the sound of a door slamming.Collier stormed back in, face thunderous, and grabbed my hand."We're leaving," he said."If you walk out that door, don't bother calling me your mother!" she yelled after him. "Don't expect a single cent from us!"Collier hesitated at the threshold—just for a moment. Then, turning back, he snatched the fruit I'd brought."You don't deserve it," he said.That night, the streets were empty, the city eerily silent. Even the subway had stopped running.We ended up walking to a hotel, the wind howling around us as we crossed the overpass.All across the city, warm lights flickered in distant apartments, like a sea of stars. But not a single one belonged to me.I didn't look back. I just lowered my head and whispered, "Collier, let's break up."He said nothing."Collier, I—"He unzipped his jacket and pulled me close from behind, his arms locking around me like I might vanish if he loosened his hold for even a second.He buried his face in my neck, and we stood like that for a long, long time.Suddenly, he spoke—softly, but with an unwavering certainty: "Lillie Vonnegut, I'll give you a home."When I returned, Collier was already asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of dreams. I tucked a blanket around his shoulders, careful not to wake him.My phone lit up—two unread messages from Jen."She made sure I got home safe, don't worry, Mr. Gresham!"Attached was a sticker: a cartoon girl winking and saying goodnight.I told myself I shouldn't doubt Collier, but I couldn't help scrolling up to read the rest of their conversation."Mr. Gresham, what'd you have for lunch today? Did she make it for you?""Yeah.""Oh, come on, you should eat takeout with us lonely single folks once in a while!""Tomorrow."That was two days ago. I remembered how, the next morning, Collier insisted I didn't need to get up early to pack lunch for him. When I asked why, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of my neck, and said he didn't want me to wear myself out. He was giving me a day off."Mr. Gresham, when are you two getting married?"Jen had sent a picture: a teary-eyed cartoon girl.Usually he replied right away, but this time, ten minutes passed before his answer came:"I don't know."He said he didn't know.I put my phone down. There was nothing else I needed to see.There were no inappropriate messages—just Collier, who always replied instantly to me and to Jen, always calling me "she" in their chats. Yet somehow, in those exchanges, it felt as if I was the outsider wedged between the two of them.I set the phone aside, stood up, and tucked my medical report and the pregnancy test into the bottom drawer of the study, right beside our savings book.Outside, the wind picked up. A light rain had just fallen, and now the air drifted in, thick and damp and heavy with summer heat. I closed the door and sat at my desk, staring off into nothing.When I got the results, I told myself I wasn't afraid, but that was a lie.I'd sat on the hospital steps for ages, watching people hurry past on the street, trying to figure out how I could break the news to him—how to make it sound easy, how to spare him pain.I thought, maybe I'd say it with a smile.Collier, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?If he said good news, I'd tell him he was going to be a dad.If he wanted the bad news, I'd tell him I was just teasing.Then he'd probably tap me on the head, and I'd confess the truth about the cancer.He'd hug me tight from behind, like he did before, whispering not to be scared.And I'd comfort him, tease him for worrying, and tell him I wasn't afraid at all.Or maybe I'd tell him the truth, crying—admit that I was terrified, scared of the pain, scared the treatment wouldn't work. That I was afraid of losing my hair, of not being able to wear ponytails or look pretty in dresses anymore.I'd tell him I couldn't bear to lose this child. We'd left one wall in the new nursery empty for LEGOs; he said we'd have a daughter, and he'd build with her, buy her all the pretty dresses she wanted.He'd probably say something ridiculously cheesy, like I'd always be the most beautiful woman in the world to him, that one day we'd have lots of children, and if this baby didn't understand, we'd just let him go.But before I could decide, the phone rang.He said he'd pick up our marriage license later that day.I agreed almost without thinking.He loved me so much, gave up everything for me—how could I let myself ruin his life?Part of me even wished he didn't love me anymore, so he wouldn't have to hurt.Maybe, in that moment, some god looked down and heard my wish.Because he really didn't love me the way he used to.I want to live, too—but I don't know if living would hurt less than the chemo.I sat in the study all night, the wind blowing through, and I still didn't know what to do.Collier woke at seven. He rubbed his temples and opened the study door.He looked striking in slate-gray slacks and a sky-blue shirt—the broad shoulders, the narrow waist. I've never been one to care much about looks, but somehow, his face always made my breath hitch.He saw me sitting there and froze, concern flickering across his face."What's wrong?" he asked.I shook my head. "Nothing. I think I'll take some time off work."Collier smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "You can quit if you want. I can take care of us."I shifted away from his hand, and it hovered awkwardly in the air before he let it drop."Why take time off?""I'm just tired."Counting all my jobs, I'd been working for nearly nine years. Maybe it was time to be tired.I started working part-time in college, and after graduation, I was the one supporting us.Back then, Collier had cut ties with his family and started a business with his best friend. We were living in a rented apartment, barely scraping by.To save fifty bucks on rent, I'd commute an hour longer. For an 8 am shift, I'd be up by quarter to six. If I worked late, I'd get home at eleven, wash up, and collapse into bed.There was no time, and no money. Some weeks, Collier and I barely exchanged a word.But no matter how late, he always came home.One night, he forgot his keys. I woke up and found he wasn't beside me. After reading his message, I opened the door and saw him asleep in the hallway—he hadn't wanted to knock and wake me, so he'd just dozed outside.The worst was our first winter. My company delayed my salary for two months, and by the end of the year, we were flat broke.That night, Collier met me at the subway station. We walked past a new diner under the overpass, its windows fogged with steam and the savory smell of stew drifting out.Their specialty was hotpot, and there was a line out the door. The warm, spicy air made my stomach ache with longing.Collier said, "First thing we do when we have money? We eat here. We'll get the mild tomato broth and the spicy house special—ten plates of lamb, too.""Why ten?" I laughed."Five to look at, five to cook," he grinned."Oh, please. I'm not sharing hotpot with someone who mixes the broths!""You're just stirring up trouble between the tomato and spicy fans. And I'm not even going to start on your love for sweet porridge—"Before he could finish, he choked on his own laughter. I patted his back, worried, but as soon as our eyes met, we both burst out laughing—helpless, unstoppable laughter, until passersby stopped to stare at us.Looking back now, I can't even remember what we were laughing about back then—maybe we were just finding joy in the little things, even when we had nothing.Later, when we finally had some money, that old diner we loved had already shut down. We never did get to eat there again.Once you start down the path of memories, it's hard to turn back.Thinking about the past, I suddenly felt my eyes sting with tears."Hey, why are you crying?" Collier sounded startled, immediately reaching out to wipe my tears away. "Don't cry, okay?""It's nothing. I just… I'm tired. I don't want to go to work anymore."I leaned into him, seeking comfort."Hey, don't worry. If your boss won't approve your leave, we'll just quit together, alright?" Collier knelt down in front of me, looking up with a tenderness in his eyes that almost spilled over.Eight years had passed, and the once reckless, spoiled Collier had finally grown into someone with a little more maturity. I knew I shouldn't, but looking at his face, I couldn't help but feel reluctant to let go.After a moment's hesitation, I reached out and tugged gently at his shirt. "Collier… could you stay with me today?"In my mind, I decided: if he stayed, I'd lay it all out—everything between us, no more secrets. Whether we broke up or tried again, after eight years, we deserved some kind of closure."I've got a really important meeting today, but I'll come home early. Get some rest, watch some shows, read a little. I'll be back before you know it, okay?"I let go of his shirt.Collier tucked the covers in around me, then kissed the top of my head, just like he always did. "Be good and get some sleep. I'll do the dishes for the rest of the month, okay? And next month is your birthday—whatever you want, I'll get it for you."I nodded, and only then did he seem relieved.I watched him quietly close the bedroom door, then the front door. And just like that, I was alone again."I agree."I bowed my head and signed my name, pushing the organ donor registration form across the desk toward the doctor.Her name was Adrienne. She was fair-skinned, maybe only a few years older than me, and looked at me with genuine concern. "Did your family agree to this? If they object at the time, they can override your decision.""I don't have any family." I smiled. "Just let me donate whatever I can."At least after I'm gone, someone will visit my grave from time to time.I looked at her and caught a flicker of guilt on her face."It's alright. Really, you don't need to worry.""Actually, your situation isn't as bad as you think. Try to stay positive—your mood really does affect your illness." Her voice wavered a bit, as if she was more nervous than I was. "Chemo and targeted therapy can affect the baby, so I wouldn't recommend…""I know."I'd done my research. If it's early stage, you can sometimes get through it and both mother and child make it. But if it's advanced, doctors rarely recommend keeping the pregnancy.If I had family, maybe the doctor would've teamed up with them to convince me things weren't so bad—just to keep my spirits up.Yesterday I read online that sometimes doctors lie to their patients, give them hope, and miracles happen.But no one's lying to me.I can't just leave my child to grow up completely alone in this world, like I did."How big is a baby at seven weeks?" I asked, trying to smile. "Honestly, I don't even feel anything yet.""There's already a heartbeat," Adrienne replied, and the thought made her smile a little, too."Really? So its heart is already beating?""Yes, it is." Adrienne clearly loved children; she couldn't help but smile as she spoke."That's wonderful."I did the math—if nothing goes wrong, the baby would be born in May next year.If nothing goes wrong.She hesitated, then scribbled something on a slip of paper. "This is my number—it's my WhatsApp, too. If you need anything, just get in touch, okay?""Thank you, Dr. Adrienne."The city bus was packed on my ride home. I managed to find a seat and sent Adrienne a message:"Hi Dr. Adrienne, I read online that both pregnancy and late-stage cancer can make you nauseous and unable to eat. I'm not sure how to tell the difference."While I waited for her reply, someone nudged me."Miss, these seats are for the elderly, disabled, or pregnant. Get up so this gentleman can sit." A spry old man stood in front of me, with a helpful middle-aged woman at his side."She's young and healthy—standing won't hurt her," the woman said, and the rest of the bus chimed in with their agreement.I pulled out my medical file and smiled, "I'm pregnant and in late-stage stomach cancer. I'm dying—do you mind if I sit a little longer?"Suddenly, the entire bus went silent. For a moment, it felt like everyone's conscience was being tested.Oddly, after saying it, I actually felt a weight lift from my chest.That's right—if I'm dying, what do I have to be afraid of anymore?"I want hotpot."The spicy, bubbling broth filled the air. Collier dipped a slice of tripe into the pot, waited fifteen seconds, then fished it out onto my plate.I took a small bite—crisp and tender—but couldn't swallow.For the past two days, swallowing has been a struggle.The stomach pains started six months ago. Sometimes I'd feel nauseous, want to throw up. I blamed it on my erratic eating habits—skipping breakfast, eating at odd hours, always rushing.My body had been warning me for a long time, but I never listened.I pretended to wipe my mouth, but really I was spitting the food into a napkin."I should stick to the mild broth," I said. Collier was about to tease me for changing my mind, when his phone lit up.He glanced down, fired off a quick reply, and a small, involuntary smile appeared on his lips.I leaned my chin on my hand and watched him.Sometimes I wondered, why did I have to be the one who got sick? Why do people who hurt others live forever, while I…The birthday song started. Waitstaff wheeled over a cake and a light-up sign.He lit the candles, put his phone aside, and looked at me as I made a wish.Collier, I hope you live a long, long life."Do you like your gift? I did my homework!" Collier grinned, eager for praise.It was a horn comb, smooth and warm to the touch."I love it." I smiled. "Collier, after dinner, I want to go see our new place.""Sure—it's your birthday. Anything you want."He turned to buckle my seatbelt, pausing when he felt my arm. His brow furrowed."Why are you so thin? Are you dieting? I never minded if you gained a little weight.""I just haven't had much of an appetite lately."Sometimes, he can be pretty oblivious.Chapter 3The day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I sat outside the hospital, staring blankly at the pregnancy test clutched in my hand.My phone buzzed. It was Collier Gresham—my boyfriend of eight years."Lillie, can we talk more about getting married later?""Sure," I replied."It's not that I don't want to marry you…"It seemed he hadn't expected me to agree so quickly. Collier went silent, then mumbled that he wouldn't be home for dinner before hanging up in a hurry.We'd been together since college—eight years. By now, we should be getting married.We'd started our business right after graduation. Last year, things had finally started turning around. We bought a car, put a down payment on a new place, and now we were just waiting for the renovations to finish.If I hadn't gotten sick, maybe by next year, I'd be holding a tiny, soft little baby in my arms, sleeping at my side.But tonight, Collier wasn't coming home. I made myself a simple bowl of pasta with greens and sat alone in the kitchen, wondering how to tell him the news.After all, we'd talked about it last year—promised we'd get married before the year was out.The doctor was a young woman, maybe just a few years older than me. She suggested I shouldn't keep the baby, that I should focus on treatment, and reassured me that being young meant my chances were good. "Don't be afraid," she said.But I wasn't really afraid. Not when I had Collier. He'd always been by my side.The doorbell rang. I was surprised—Collier never rang the bell.He stumbled in, clearly drunk, half-leaning on Jen, the new hire we'd brought on just last month—a fresh college grad."Hey, Lillie. We were out with a client, Mr. Gresham had a bit too much to drink. His car's downstairs," Jen said, cheeks flushed, smoothing her tousled hair. She wore a floral sundress that clung to her in all the right ways. "I just brought him up. I'll catch a ride home."Collier collapsed onto the couch, already half asleep.I took his suit jacket, which was faintly scented with Jen's orange blossom perfume."Thanks, Jen," I said, forcing a smile. "It's late, let me drive you back."She tried to argue, but I wasn't having it. "No way I'm letting you grab a cab alone this late," I said.As we drove, she glanced over and asked, "So, when are you and Collier getting married?"I hesitated, remembering what Collier had said on the phone earlier, and forced an awkward smile. "Maybe in a couple years, once the company's more stable."…Or when my health is."I see…" Jen looked out the window, lost in thought. Then she glanced down and smiled sweetly. "Got it."After dropping her off, I parked the car and remembered I'd left my vitamin E in the glove compartment. When I opened it, I noticed something wedged in the seatbelt slot—a torn square wrapper.Lubricating oil from inside the wrapper smeared my hand. I just stared at it, frozen.Suddenly, I remembered Jen's sundress, her flushed cheeks when she walked in.Collier's call that afternoon, and the way he avoided my gaze when he came home, feigning drunkenness.I sat in the passenger seat, dazed. So much had happened in one day, I didn't even know where to start.Collier and I had started dating our freshman year. He'd chased after me.Back then, I was working at a local diner near campus, saving up for tuition, when Collier—rich, handsome, and persistent—fell for me at first sight.To woo me, he ate at that beef stew place for an entire year, even though he hated it.The day I finally agreed to date him, he got so sick from the stew he threw up right there in the diner. To this day, he can't stand the smell.He knew I was proud, so he'd eat with me in the student cafeteria and secretly buy me fruit and milk, stuffing them into my bag. "What if my future wife gets malnourished?" he'd say, half-joking.He quit smoking for me. When cravings hit, he'd suck on lollipops in front of his baffled friends, cheeks red, proclaiming, "What do you guys know? This is what it means to settle down."I never did understand why Collier liked me.He was six-foot-two, good-looking, and came from money. But none of that mattered to him. He said he liked me, and that was that.He was stubborn—once he set his mind to something, nothing could sway him.I saw it that Christmas Eve when he took me home to meet his parents. I stood awkwardly in the foyer, clutching a box of store-bought fruit. His parents were polite enough, but when the staff began clearing the table, his mother coughed and signaled for Collier to speak with her in private.The lights in the house were blinding, brighter than the August sun, illuminating every flaw in my worn winter coat and faded jeans—my best clothes.I sat on the edge of the ornate sofa, legs pressed together, doing my best to shrink out of sight. The staff glanced at me, some whispering, their laughter sharp as knives against my pride.Then I heard his mother's voice, shrill and cutting."She must know you're wealthy, right? What could a girl with no family possibly give you?"It felt like someone stomped on my chest. I could barely breathe.I stared at the floor, digging my nails into my arm, telling myself not to cry.Then, the sound of a door slamming.Collier stormed back in, face thunderous, and grabbed my hand."We're leaving," he said."If you walk out that door, don't bother calling me your mother!" she yelled after him. "Don't expect a single cent from us!"Collier hesitated at the threshold—just for a moment. Then, turning back, he snatched the fruit I'd brought."You don't deserve it," he said.That night, the streets were empty, the city eerily silent. Even the subway had stopped running.We ended up walking to a hotel, the wind howling around us as we crossed the overpass.All across the city, warm lights flickered in distant apartments, like a sea of stars. But not a single one belonged to me.I didn't look back. I just lowered my head and whispered, "Collier, let's break up."He said nothing."Collier, I—"He unzipped his jacket and pulled me close from behind, his arms locking around me like I might vanish if he loosened his hold for even a second.He buried his face in my neck, and we stood like that for a long, long time.Suddenly, he spoke—softly, but with an unwavering certainty: "Lillie Vonnegut, I'll give you a home."When I returned, Collier was already asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of dreams. I tucked a blanket around his shoulders, careful not to wake him.My phone lit up—two unread messages from Jen."She made sure I got home safe, don't worry, Mr. Gresham!"Attached was a sticker: a cartoon girl winking and saying goodnight.I told myself I shouldn't doubt Collier, but I couldn't help scrolling up to read the rest of their conversation."Mr. Gresham, what'd you have for lunch today? Did she make it for you?""Yeah.""Oh, come on, you should eat takeout with us lonely single folks once in a while!""Tomorrow."That was two days ago. I remembered how, the next morning, Collier insisted I didn't need to get up early to pack lunch for him. When I asked why, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of my neck, and said he didn't want me to wear myself out. He was giving me a day off."Mr. Gresham, when are you two getting married?"Jen had sent a picture: a teary-eyed cartoon girl.Usually he replied right away, but this time, ten minutes passed before his answer came:"I don't know."He said he didn't know.I put my phone down. There was nothing else I needed to see.There were no inappropriate messages—just Collier, who always replied instantly to me and to Jen, always calling me "she" in their chats. Yet somehow, in those exchanges, it felt as if I was the outsider wedged between the two of them.I set the phone aside, stood up, and tucked my medical report and the pregnancy test into the bottom drawer of the study, right beside our savings book.Outside, the wind picked up. A light rain had just fallen, and now the air drifted in, thick and damp and heavy with summer heat. I closed the door and sat at my desk, staring off into nothing.When I got the results, I told myself I wasn't afraid, but that was a lie.I'd sat on the hospital steps for ages, watching people hurry past on the street, trying to figure out how I could break the news to him—how to make it sound easy, how to spare him pain.I thought, maybe I'd say it with a smile.Collier, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?If he said good news, I'd tell him he was going to be a dad.If he wanted the bad news, I'd tell him I was just teasing.Then he'd probably tap me on the head, and I'd confess the truth about the cancer.He'd hug me tight from behind, like he did before, whispering not to be scared.And I'd comfort him, tease him for worrying, and tell him I wasn't afraid at all.Or maybe I'd tell him the truth, crying—admit that I was terrified, scared of the pain, scared the treatment wouldn't work. That I was afraid of losing my hair, of not being able to wear ponytails or look pretty in dresses anymore.I'd tell him I couldn't bear to lose this child. We'd left one wall in the new nursery empty for LEGOs; he said we'd have a daughter, and he'd build with her, buy her all the pretty dresses she wanted.He'd probably say something ridiculously cheesy, like I'd always be the most beautiful woman in the world to him, that one day we'd have lots of children, and if this baby didn't understand, we'd just let him go.But before I could decide, the phone rang.He said he'd pick up our marriage license later that day.I agreed almost without thinking.He loved me so much, gave up everything for me—how could I let myself ruin his life?Part of me even wished he didn't love me anymore, so he wouldn't have to hurt.Maybe, in that moment, some god looked down and heard my wish.Because he really didn't love me the way he used to.I want to live, too—but I don't know if living would hurt less than the chemo.I sat in the study all night, the wind blowing through, and I still didn't know what to do.Collier woke at seven. He rubbed his temples and opened the study door.He looked striking in slate-gray slacks and a sky-blue shirt—the broad shoulders, the narrow waist. I've never been one to care much about looks, but somehow, his face always made my breath hitch.He saw me sitting there and froze, concern flickering across his face."What's wrong?" he asked.I shook my head. "Nothing. I think I'll take some time off work."Collier smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "You can quit if you want. I can take care of us."I shifted away from his hand, and it hovered awkwardly in the air before he let it drop."Why take time off?""I'm just tired."Counting all my jobs, I'd been working for nearly nine years. Maybe it was time to be tired.I started working part-time in college, and after graduation, I was the one supporting us.Back then, Collier had cut ties with his family and started a business with his best friend. We were living in a rented apartment, barely scraping by.To save fifty bucks on rent, I'd commute an hour longer. For an 8 am shift, I'd be up by quarter to six. If I worked late, I'd get home at eleven, wash up, and collapse into bed.There was no time, and no money. Some weeks, Collier and I barely exchanged a word.But no matter how late, he always came home.One night, he forgot his keys. I woke up and found he wasn't beside me. After reading his message, I opened the door and saw him asleep in the hallway—he hadn't wanted to knock and wake me, so he'd just dozed outside.The worst was our first winter. My company delayed my salary for two months, and by the end of the year, we were flat broke.That night, Collier met me at the subway station. We walked past a new diner under the overpass, its windows fogged with steam and the savory smell of stew drifting out.Their specialty was hotpot, and there was a line out the door. The warm, spicy air made my stomach ache with longing.Collier said, "First thing we do when we have money? We eat here. We'll get the mild tomato broth and the spicy house special—ten plates of lamb, too.""Why ten?" I laughed."Five to look at, five to cook," he grinned."Oh, please. I'm not sharing hotpot with someone who mixes the broths!""You're just stirring up trouble between the tomato and spicy fans. And I'm not even going to start on your love for sweet porridge—"Before he could finish, he choked on his own laughter. I patted his back, worried, but as soon as our eyes met, we both burst out laughing—helpless, unstoppable laughter, until passersby stopped to stare at us.Looking back now, I can't even remember what we were laughing about back then—maybe we were just finding joy in the little things, even when we had nothing.Later, when we finally had some money, that old diner we loved had already shut down. We never did get to eat there again.Once you start down the path of memories, it's hard to turn back.Thinking about the past, I suddenly felt my eyes sting with tears."Hey, why are you crying?" Collier sounded startled, immediately reaching out to wipe my tears away. "Don't cry, okay?""It's nothing. I just… I'm tired. I don't want to go to work anymore."I leaned into him, seeking comfort."Hey, don't worry. If your boss won't approve your leave, we'll just quit together, alright?" Collier knelt down in front of me, looking up with a tenderness in his eyes that almost spilled over.Eight years had passed, and the once reckless, spoiled Collier had finally grown into someone with a little more maturity. I knew I shouldn't, but looking at his face, I couldn't help but feel reluctant to let go.After a moment's hesitation, I reached out and tugged gently at his shirt. "Collier… could you stay with me today?"In my mind, I decided: if he stayed, I'd lay it all out—everything between us, no more secrets. Whether we broke up or tried again, after eight years, we deserved some kind of closure."I've got a really important meeting today, but I'll come home early. Get some rest, watch some shows, read a little. I'll be back before you know it, okay?"I let go of his shirt.Collier tucked the covers in around me, then kissed the top of my head, just like he always did. "Be good and get some sleep. I'll do the dishes for the rest of the month, okay? And next month is your birthday—whatever you want, I'll get it for you."I nodded, and only then did he seem relieved.I watched him quietly close the bedroom door, then the front door. And just like that, I was alone again."I agree."I bowed my head and signed my name, pushing the organ donor registration form across the desk toward the doctor.Her name was Adrienne. She was fair-skinned, maybe only a few years older than me, and looked at me with genuine concern. "Did your family agree to this? If they object at the time, they can override your decision.""I don't have any family." I smiled. "Just let me donate whatever I can."At least after I'm gone, someone will visit my grave from time to time.I looked at her and caught a flicker of guilt on her face."It's alright. Really, you don't need to worry.""Actually, your situation isn't as bad as you think. Try to stay positive—your mood really does affect your illness." Her voice wavered a bit, as if she was more nervous than I was. "Chemo and targeted therapy can affect the baby, so I wouldn't recommend…""I know."I'd done my research. If it's early stage, you can sometimes get through it and both mother and child make it. But if it's advanced, doctors rarely recommend keeping the pregnancy.If I had family, maybe the doctor would've teamed up with them to convince me things weren't so bad—just to keep my spirits up.Yesterday I read online that sometimes doctors lie to their patients, give them hope, and miracles happen.But no one's lying to me.I can't just leave my child to grow up completely alone in this world, like I did."How big is a baby at seven weeks?" I asked, trying to smile. "Honestly, I don't even feel anything yet.""There's already a heartbeat," Adrienne replied, and the thought made her smile a little, too."Really? So its heart is already beating?""Yes, it is." Adrienne clearly loved children; she couldn't help but smile as she spoke."That's wonderful."I did the math—if nothing goes wrong, the baby would be born in May next year.If nothing goes wrong.She hesitated, then scribbled something on a slip of paper. "This is my number—it's my WhatsApp, too. If you need anything, just get in touch, okay?""Thank you, Dr. Adrienne."The city bus was packed on my ride home. I managed to find a seat and sent Adrienne a message:"Hi Dr. Adrienne, I read online that both pregnancy and late-stage cancer can make you nauseous and unable to eat. I'm not sure how to tell the difference."While I waited for her reply, someone nudged me."Miss, these seats are for the elderly, disabled, or pregnant. Get up so this gentleman can sit." A spry old man stood in front of me, with a helpful middle-aged woman at his side."She's young and healthy—standing won't hurt her," the woman said, and the rest of the bus chimed in with their agreement.I pulled out my medical file and smiled, "I'm pregnant and in late-stage stomach cancer. I'm dying—do you mind if I sit a little longer?"Suddenly, the entire bus went silent. For a moment, it felt like everyone's conscience was being tested.Oddly, after saying it, I actually felt a weight lift from my chest.That's right—if I'm dying, what do I have to be afraid of anymore?"I want hotpot."The spicy, bubbling broth filled the air. Collier dipped a slice of tripe into the pot, waited fifteen seconds, then fished it out onto my plate.I took a small bite—crisp and tender—but couldn't swallow.For the past two days, swallowing has been a struggle.The stomach pains started six months ago. Sometimes I'd feel nauseous, want to throw up. I blamed it on my erratic eating habits—skipping breakfast, eating at odd hours, always rushing.My body had been warning me for a long time, but I never listened.I pretended to wipe my mouth, but really I was spitting the food into a napkin."I should stick to the mild broth," I said. Collier was about to tease me for changing my mind, when his phone lit up.He glanced down, fired off a quick reply, and a small, involuntary smile appeared on his lips.I leaned my chin on my hand and watched him.Sometimes I wondered, why did I have to be the one who got sick? Why do people who hurt others live forever, while I…The birthday song started. Waitstaff wheeled over a cake and a light-up sign.He lit the candles, put his phone aside, and looked at me as I made a wish.Collier, I hope you live a long, long life."Do you like your gift? I did my homework!" Collier grinned, eager for praise.It was a horn comb, smooth and warm to the touch."I love it." I smiled. "Collier, after dinner, I want to go see our new place.""Sure—it's your birthday. Anything you want."He turned to buckle my seatbelt, pausing when he felt my arm. His brow furrowed."Why are you so thin? Are you dieting? I never minded if you gained a little weight.""I just haven't had much of an appetite lately."Sometimes, he can be pretty oblivious.