【Love Story】He Was with His Lover on Our Child's Funeral Day

[Music] Five years ago, I got pregnant with Peter's child. Using this child, I married into Peter's family and became his legitimate wife. In these five years, Peter has been utterly indifferent to me and the child. Three days ago, his child and I died in a car accident while he went to jile with his true love to fulfill their childhood dreams. On the third day after Mike's death, Peter still hadn't shown up. Chapter One: People came and went in waves at the morning hall, each face showing expressions of sorrow and regret, but only I knew

it was all fake. Standing in the dining room, I poured a glass of water, about to drink it when I heard the laughing voices of women behind me. "Guessing? It's been days since the child died and his father hasn't come back yet," one said. "Don't you know?" The voice lowered to a whisper. "Peter went to jile Snow Mountain with Lisa. In that place, once you go in, there's no signal. Peter's family has gone crazy trying to call him, but he hasn't answered a single call. Maybe he's ignoring the calls on purpose." The woman speaking curled

her lips into a smile. "Everyone knows she only got in through an out-of-wedlock pregnancy. If it weren't for her, Peter would have been with Lisa long ago." In the midst of all this noise, I eventually fainted from overwhelming grief. In the morning hall, after being fed some medicine and waking up, there was still a lot of noise around me. My head ached terribly, and I turned over, burying my face into the pillow, trying to escape reality. The salty wet smell hit my nose; it was from the tears I had shed these past few days. My

tears soaked the pillow, yet Peter still hadn't returned. The noise dispersed as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Someone in the crowd seemed to say, "Peter, you're finally back!" "Peter? Impossible! He's far away in jie with Lisa. How could he come back? Even if he wanted to return, would Lisa agree? She deliberately chose Mike's birthday to take Peter on an overseas flight." That night, Mike lowered his head as the candles on the cake were about to burn out, the light reflecting on his chubby little face, showing his disappointment. He was such a sweet, loving child

but didn't touch the cake, asking in his innocent voice, "Mom, when is Dad coming back?" He didn't cry or make a fuss; he had been understanding since he was young, knowing that his dad didn't love him and didn't love his mom either. In these five years, Mike's only wish was for his dad to spend a birthday with him, but until his death, that wish never came true. The chair beside me was dragged out, and someone sat down. That scent! It was the person I had shared a bed with for five years. As soon as he

got close, just by his breath, his movements, even a glance, I could feel him. I used to long for his closeness, but after being disheartened, I no longer wanted to look at him. Peter sat down and said two faint words: "I'm sorry." Again he's sorry? When he went to jie with Lisa, I blocked his way, grabbed his sleeve, and begged, "Can you go tomorrow? Today is Mike's fifth birthday, and he wants his dad to spend it with him." Knowing my place after so many years of marriage, I never dared to ask him for anything, knowing

this marriage wasn't something he wanted. But when it came to Mike, I always wanted to ask. But as expected, Peter removed my hand, expressionless. "I'm sorry, Lisa is waiting for me." But his child was also waiting for him. However, this time Mike really got angry and would never wait for him again. It was cold all around, and I curled up, burying my head deeper. Peter sat beside me. He knew I was awake. He was such a sensitive and suspicious person, always knowing my every move. These years, one was afraid I would trap him again, the

other was afraid I would hurt his beloved. "Are you awake?" Peter's tone was not sad but rather urgent. "Everyone downstairs has left. Get up and eat something." How could he be so calm as if the one who died was not his child? Indeed, all these years, he never treated Mike as his child, nor did he treat me as his wife. If not for my mother's schemes, I wouldn't have gotten into Peter's bed and wouldn't have become his wife. Peter hated me, hated my mother. He once called us "the farmer and the snake." Thinking of Mike,

I felt a pain of sorrow and buried my face into the wet pillow, my voice hoarse and broken, constantly choking. "Have you seen Mike?" "Yes." "That's good." I tried to hold back my sobs. "You can go out now." Peter's voice was like a breeze, as always: light and detached. "I didn't get the call. Once I entered the mountain, the communication equipment failed." Really? Really? Was this an emphasis or a way to absolve himself? Whatever it was, I didn't care anymore. "Yes, go out." Peter didn't leave. His attitude towards me was very dissatisfied. "Tina, the child

was so young. How could you let him go out alone? I am his father; I think you owe me an explanation." Explanation? I let out a soft laugh, then moved my limbs and sat up. I must have looked awful, with tear stains on my face, marks on my skin, deep-set eyes, lifeless eyes, a pale complexion, looking like a skeleton from a distance. In contrast, Peter sat upright, dressed in formal attire, impeccable. That face, as cold as ice, showing no sadness, no tears; he was the officer interrogating the criminal, and I was the mother. brought to

my ear, but my words stumbled out with a fragile clarity. "Became the criminal. What are you laughing at?" Peter asked, frowning. "I'm laughing at you," I leaned against the headboard, fragile as paper, easily torn yet still sharp-edged. "Do you know where Mike was going?" Peter looked at me, signaling me to continue. "He was going to find you. He called you many times, but none of them went through. He said Dad might be lost and can't find his way home, so he went out to find you." Peter hesitated for a moment. "You didn't stop him?" I

could fool him once or twice, but he was worried about Dad. Suddenly, I felt both pathetic and ridiculous. Why did I need to explain to him? I stopped and took a deep breath. It was my fault. Those few words stirred a storm in the cold space, Peter's gaze carrying a scrutinizing look. I met his gaze and said word by word, "My fault was not knowing my place, liking you, and by a twist of fate, marrying you and having Mike. My fault was giving birth to him, letting him suffer grievances and not protecting him well." In

Peter's oppressive gaze, I smiled. "My biggest fault was having illusions about you, naively thinking we could go back to the way we were." Peter's expression was blank, speechless for a moment when that slap landed. Both Peter and I didn't have time to react as the person rushed in from outside with a cry and harsh scolding, hitting me then grabbing my shoulders. "You couldn't even watch a child! Do you deserve to be a mother?" The one hitting me was Peter's younger sister. She was arrogant and dominant, always looking down on me and Mike. She had pushed

Mike, given him rotten peaches to eat, and secretly told him that his dad hated him. Her current grief and wailing were just an act in front of Peter. I sat there, numb, taking several slaps, my mouth bleeding. Peter, as a husband, watched calmly, unmoved, his eyes full of indifference. From the past to the present, when Mike and I needed help the most, he never extended a hand. My hair was being pulled; it hurt. In the midst of the scolding, I met Peter's cold gaze. Once, when I just fell and scraped my skin, he was extremely

anxious, constantly asking if it hurt, with a furrowed brow. Times have changed; now I get beaten in front of him, and he can remain indifferent. Over the years, my feelings for Peter evolved from youthful infatuation to cautious infatuation due to his hot and cold treatment, eventually leading to a planned and orchestrated marriage, making me his wife. In the past, I had love, expectations, and guilt for him. The tension that had been building for days snapped. I suddenly sat up, grabbed my sister-in-law's arm, and slapped her back. She was stunned, covering her face, eyes wide open

with disbelief. In this family, except for Peter, I hadn't wronged anyone, and certainly not Mike. This slap, I should return. Chapter 2. The day we went to the cemetery, I had four visible injuries. My left cheek was swollen, and there were several scratches on my chin. If Peter hadn't stepped in and pulled my sister and me apart that day, the injuries might have been worse. But it was me that Peter pushed away. Sitting in the car, cold waves hit from all directions, but I couldn't feel the cold, staring blankly out of the window. Peter sat

next to me, then took a call from Lisa on the day of Mike's burial. As his father, he still had to take a call from another woman. His tone was always casual, but he had a special patience for Lisa. "Yes, I'll be busy for a few more days. You go back first." I half-turned, feeling Peter's gaze on me, then he handed me the phone. "Lisa wants to talk to you." In the past, I probably would have thrown the phone away, but now, without Mike, what's the point? To Peter's surprise, I smiled and took the phone,

pressing it to my ear. The screen still carried Peter's warmth, and in the past, I longed to be close to him, to his scent, voice, and body heat. Now, just touching it made me nauseous. Lisa's voice came through the receiver, still elegant and cheerful. "Tina, are you okay?" I remained silent. The presence beside me was oppressive, as if daring me to say one harsh word to Lisa, and he would immediately throw me out of the car. Peter had done such things before. On a snowy night, I called Lisa in front of him, warning her to

stop destroying someone else's family. Peter flew into a rage, smashed the phone, and kicked me out. That night, I walked for two hours in the freezing cold, and later I was sick for a week. He never came to see me; it was Mike who stayed by my bed, his little hands on my forehead, calling, "Mommy," over and over. I lived for Mike. Without me, how could that child have survived in Peter's house? But now, without him, my spirit has been drained bit by bit, losing the will to live. In my ear, Lisa's voice repeated, "Tina,

are you okay after losing your child?" Her voice was soft and low, making sure Peter wouldn't hear. "You must be terrible because you've lost your leverage." Mike was indeed my leverage to marry Peter. Without this child, I couldn't have entered Peter's house. But without this child, what meaning is there for me to stay in Peter's house? This was never a place I wanted to be—not from the beginning. I strained my dry throat. "Then I'll give him back to you." Lisa was stunned. "What?" "I'll give him back to you." I corrected myself. "Sorry, he was yours

to begin with." The phone was— Instantly snatched away, Peter ended the call, his face full of incredulous anger. "What nonsense are you spouting to Lisa again? What could a mother who has lost her child say to her husband's lover?" There was no warning, no cursing, only letting go—letting go so that love, lovers, can be together. "I can no longer hold on to this relationship, nor do I want this life anymore." In a drizzling rain, Mike was buried. The photo on the tombstone was taken when he was three. We had planned to take a family portrait

that day. Mike and I arrived early and waited all day. Around us were happy families chatting and laughing, posing under the photographer's guidance. In their laughter, Mike and I seemed even more pitiful. I could bear Peter's indifference, but what about Mike? Under gloomy skies in front of the cold tombstone, the photo showed no smile. After all, Mike had taken the photo while holding back his disappointment because he didn’t want to make me sad. Someone held an umbrella beside me. I bowed my head, praying and repenting in front of Mike's tombstone, wishing for him to have

loving parents in his next life, not to endure cold stares as in this one. Rain streamed before my eyes and someone walked by. It looked like Peter. I lifted my heavy eyelids and saw his black coat brush by as he bent down to place something at Mike's grave. When he stood up, I saw clearly it was a set of racing blocks. My heart sank. I was confused and grabbed Peter's sleeve, afraid I would cause a scene in front of the guests. He whispered, "Whatever you have to say, say it at home." "What is that?" I

asked calmly. Peter looked back. "A birthday gift for Mike. He asked for it earlier but didn’t get it in time." "He asked you for it?" "We planned it." Seeing the despair on my face, Peter grabbed my wrist. "What's wrong?" My legs went weak, feeling like a knife was twisting inside me, and I collapsed in front of Mike's grave. My child on his last birthday had received a fake gift, yet he still smiled. Mike must have known that the watch was bought by me, but I said it was from his father, and he accepted it happily,

even saying he wanted to thank his dad. He knew everything. He knew all these years his father never loved him— not even preparing a birthday gift for him. Only after his death did he receive a belated gift. But what does it matter now? Chapter 3 The atmosphere in the house was heavy. Peter's father was waiting for him, holding a cane, his thick brows tightly knit, but his tone to me was gentle. "Tina, you go upstairs first." I knew the old man was about to punish Peter again. Peter's father was the only one in this family

who liked me, trusted me, and supported my marriage into the family because years ago, my father saved his life in a critical moment. When my father passed away, our family's main support collapsed. Peter's family, out of gratitude, offered my mother a job as a housekeeper—easy work with high pay. Peter's father also arranged for me to attend the same school as Peter, instructing him to take care of me as if I were his own sister. Peter did as told, but I, not knowing my place, fell in love with him. Peter's father found out that Peter was

late to Mike's funeral and sent everyone else away to discipline him. The housekeeper ran up to me, begging desperately. "Dragging me along, the master likes you the most. Say something nice for him, please go quickly!" "Why should I?" In the past, I loved Peter with all my heart. When he was hurt or scolded, I felt worse than he did. But that was all based on my love for him. Later, watching him run around for Lisa day and night, my love disappeared, replaced by guilt and self-blame. So many times I wanted to leave with Mike, and

just as many times, Peter's father, with his weary eyes, begged me to stay—for Mike's sake, for my mother's last wish. I shouldn't have agreed. After shedding the image of Peter's wife, I wore the simplest clothes. The suitcase contained nothing of mine—only Mike's belongings. I took off my earrings and placed them on the dressing table, ensuring I hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t mine. A breath rose from the depths of my heart, and as it eased, I avoided the housekeeper and went downstairs. By then, Peter had already been beaten, kneeling on the ground, his hands supporting him,

enduring it with gritted teeth. When he looked up, his bloodshot eyes met mine, but I didn’t look at him for even a second. Peter's father dropped the cane and walked over. He was the person I respected most in this family, providing me with a good environment and education, giving my mother and me a place to stay. Even now, I am still grateful to him. "Uncle," I called him uncle again, not Father. I remember the day I entered this house. Peter's father took my hand and placed it on Peter's, earnestly advising him, "Tina is a good

girl; treat her well." Just like the day my mom and I came to Peter's house, he introduced me to Peter the same way: "Tina will be your sister from now on. Go to and from school with her and take good care of her." The difference was that young Peter could still smile at me, look after me at school, take me to the cafeteria, wait for me after school, and even pull me along to watch him play basketball. Even though there were crowds of girls who liked him at the basketball court, he insisted that I go.

He was so brilliant and excellent, always the center of attention wherever he went. I, on the other hand, was extremely ordinary. When I was with him, I always kept my head down, dressed plainly with a ponytail, and wore my school uniform as if it would last forever. I didn't dare look him in the eye—so timid and introverted, not likable at all back then. Everyone at school knew that Peter liked to be with me because his father owed my father his life. He was kind and didn't mind my unsociable and dull nature, always taking me with

him. But when Lisa appeared, that balance was broken. She became the one watching Peter play basketball from the sidelines, the one having meals with him in the cafeteria. I can't recall how she quietly rose to prominence by Peter's side; I only remember that at first, I didn't notice anything until Peter inexplicably became distant. A classmate said in the bathroom, "Tina is so oblivious; Peter and Lisa are dating, and she's still hanging around like a third wheel." These words made me shy away from Peter. From then on, I kept my distance, finding excuses to avoid having

meals with him or going to and from school together, even avoiding him at home. But when I appeared in the cafeteria with a male classmate, Peter came over, standing by the table, looking down at me like a commoner—not eating with me. "Turns out you're dating," I didn't understand. I just didn't want to be a third wheel, but later, by some twist of fate, I ended up breaking up Lisa and Peter, a couple who were like gods. "It's time to give this position back to Lisa." Peter, who had been kneeling, stood up. Those few strikes didn't

really hurt him. When he looked at me, I looked at Peter's father. "Uncle, I've left everything that should be left in the bedroom. I'll be leaving today." Moving out and divorcing were things I had already discussed with Peter's father a few days ago. He disagreed, trying his best to persuade me, just like all those years ago. But he knew that without Mike, I wouldn't stay in this prison my mother built for me. Peter, like an outsider, was puzzled by our conversation. "Leave? Where to?" His words enraged his father. "You beast! Shut up!" Peter frowned, his

gaze complicated and unreadable. "Tina is my wife. Do I not have the right to ask where she's going?" So, he knew I was his wife, but this wife had never been acknowledged. Peter's father was so angry that his heart ached, clutching his chest, his face pale. I went to support him, softly comforting, "Uncle, don't get agitated." Peter's father deeply regretted the breakdown of our marriage. He knew the fault lay with Peter, not blaming me. "This is my fault. I failed to raise this beast properly, causing you pain. And Mike, if your mother knew, she would

surely blame me." "Uncle, there's no need to say this," I helped him sit down, catching Peter's inquisitive gaze. "Uncle isn't in good health; you should take more care." Without the sorrow and tears of days past, my calm demeanor seemed even more tragic as I walked past Peter. He grabbed my wrist. "Explain; where are you going? Why are you leaving?" There is no greater sorrow than a heart that has died. This Peter doesn't understand; no longer longing for him, I didn't look at him, forcibly shaking off his hand. **Chapter 4** On the third day after leaving

Peter's house, I passed out at home. This was something I had expected—stomach cancer diagnosed two months ago. At that time, Mike was still around, and I was actively undergoing treatment. On the day I got the diagnosis, I mentioned it to Peter, but all I received was his cold stare. He had long since hated me to the core, and I realized it too late. I had planned to get better and leave Peter's house with Mike. Now, it seems I will be going to find Mike. That day, what I didn't mention was that Mike ran out of

the house to find Peter because I fainted from the pain. A five-year-old doesn't know to call an ambulance. The first thing he thought of was his father. After all the twists and turns, I never expected that at the end of my life, the person I would open my eyes to see would be Henry. In school, Henry was in the same class as me. He came from a poor family but had excellent grades, wholly focused on his studies, the opposite of someone like Peter, who was highborn and wealthy. In the past, Peter said he was pretending

to be aloof and told me to stay away from him. I defended Henry, and Peter scolded me for siding with outsiders. I knew Henry wanted to be a doctor and that he would succeed, but I never expected to be his first patient after he returned from further studies abroad. Standing by the bed in his white coat, he looked so impressive, highlighting my wretchedness and misery. It reminded me of when we were classmates, and he would always look at me disdainfully and say, "Tina, with such poor grades, how can you sleep so soundly?" Back then, I

would always say dismissively, "Peter will take me to study abroad; he said I don't need to work so hard." Every time I said that, Henry's expression was always complicated. Now, looking back, I finally understand what he was thinking: relying on someone who doesn't love you always ends tragically, and here I am—a living example. But no matter what, Dr. Henry saved my life. I lifted my hand, bent my stiff fingers, and smiled at him. "Hi, Dr. Henry." Probably, he didn't want to talk. To me, so he sent a nurse to take care of me. I was

brought here by a neighbor, and the medical fees hadn't been paid. The nurse asked for a family member's contact number. I replied cheerfully, "No parents, no family." The nurse, filled with sympathy, was much gentler when removing the needle. Dr. Henry said, "You need to get an x-ray and a full checkup." I weakly put on my old coat. When I left Peter's house, I didn't take anything with me since those things weren't mine, and I feared Peter would come looking for them. I really didn't want to see him again. The old hope was from many years

ago, not warm with fright, cuffs looking quite shabby. I shrank my hands into it and stood up. "No need; I just fainted from exhaustion. I'm in good health." At Peter's house, except for his father, no one respected me. They all knew I was living under someone else's roof, scheming to get into Peter's bed, and that's how I became Peter's wife. So, over the years, I never enjoyed the treatment or love a wife should have. I lived worse than a housekeeper, both mentally and physically. I had become nearly invincible. The nurse was half convinced, as my

complexion was no better than the patients in the ICU. Of course, I am a late-stage stomach cancer patient, but that's a secret. When Mike was alive and needed my protection, I secretly visited many hospitals looking for treatment options, enduring excruciating pain, vomiting uncontrollably. I took the payment slip to the window to pay the bill. Holding my stomach, I walked out of the payment queue with difficulty, my vision blurry and dim. When I seemed to see Peter, he was wearing the coat I bought for him, holding another woman in his arms. At that moment, I wished

my consciousness would blur a bit more so I wouldn't see the scarf around Lisa's neck that I had hand-knitted for Peter. After taking it, I had asked him many times, "Where's the scarf?" He only said he forgot. Turns out he gave it to Lisa. He could have thrown it away, but he chose a way to humiliate me. I wasn't surprised; instead, I felt a deep sense of calm. Perhaps at that moment, Peter exhausted all the love and guilt I had for him, burying them along with Mike's death. Awakening from a dream, I realized I had

lost my child during my marriage and had nothing left while he had a new partner by his side, his wishes fulfilled. In the bustling hospital, I recalled many times over the years when I gave Peter ties that Lisa took and used as rags. When I waited until late at night on his mother's death anniversary only to see a post from Lisa on her social media saying, "You always make my heart ache." And even the scarf I painstakingly knitted was now worn by Lisa. My mother had taught me how to knit; it was my first time

knitting, and when I gave it to Peter, I was nervous, hoping for a smile from him, but there was none. He just took it and said, "Don't waste your effort. Next time." He was trying to tell me that no matter how hard I tried, it would be in vain. But I just wanted to make up for things, to be a good wife. Back then, the person who stood by me, tugging at my clothes to comfort me, was Mike. He said, "Mom, don't be sad. Dad's just being stubborn." "Silly child, if you love someone, how could

you be stubborn?" He was never stubborn with Lisa. Chapter 5 Two weeks after Mike's death, I began relying on painkillers to survive. As my body's condition worsened, the pain intensified, and I couldn't bear it. I had to take painkillers to cope. After each bout of vomiting, I felt like an empty shell with nothing left in my stomach, progressing to the point where even drinking a glass of water caused pain. I needed to take a lot of painkillers, clutching Mike's favorite teddy bear to fall asleep. In my drowsiness, I often wondered if Mike felt this much

pain when he passed away. He had no painkillers to take; it must have been excruciating for him. It's my fault—I didn't take good care of him, my Mike. Before my consciousness faded, I heard persistent knocking. If it weren't for the lingering pain, I might have mistaken it for the tolling of a death bell. Standing at the door was Dr. Henry, making my expression even more strained. He wasn't this persistent before. When I asked him to help me with questions, he was always indifferent, as cold as could be. "What happened now, Tina? Your condition is serious;

you should go to the hospital for a checkup as soon as possible." He was a doctor—a good one—who could immediately discern the severity of my illness. Henry hadn't changed much from the past, except he had grown a bit, and the arrogance between his brows had intensified. As Peter said, he was aloof, and aloof people couldn’t tolerate humiliation. I didn't want to offend anyone before dying. "Dr. Henry, don't you have patience?" I tried my best to portray myself as a sharp-tongued woman. "How much commission can you earn by making me take a few more tests?" Henry's

eyelid twitched. "Tina, I'll give you money; just stop pestering me with that." I went inside to get money and stuffed it into his hand. "Is this enough?" Dr. Henry left; after all, who would tolerate an unreasonable patient? Dying alone is my best outcome. I swallowed the pills, drew the curtains, and was about to rest when two figures downstairs caught my eye. It was Henry and Peter. How did he find this place? Shouldn't he be with Lisa at this time? They were arguing, almost coming to blows. Ignoring my physical discomfort, I rushed downstairs, instinctively placing myself

between them, suppressing the itch in my throat and weakly looking up. "What are you doing here?" Peter still looked the same, standing in the evening breeze, the hem of his coat fluttering lightly with the wind. The moonlight fell on his chiseled features, giving him a layer of cool detachment. His gaze towards Henry was full of hostility and aggression, just like when we were in school. Whenever he saw Henry using my things or fetching water for me, he would be angry for half a day. He would then ask me, "Tina, don't you have hands? Why do

you need someone else to help you?" He didn't allow other men to help me, but he could give all his kindness to Lisa. I used to love him and distance myself from many people for him, but now I just want to follow my heart. I shielded Henry behind me, turned around, and pulled his sleeve, urging him to leave. He and Peter locked eyes, the tension palpable. If it weren't for my plea, he wouldn't have left like this. Seeing this, Peter's expression turned into a cold storm. He sneered at me. "Leaving a good life at home

to come here? Turns out you're with your lover." A good life being neglected by my husband, despised by everyone, losing my child—that's Peter's idea of a good life. After we got married, he hated me and humiliated me, and I could understand why. After all, I ruined his lifelong happiness with Lisa. Now that I'm about to die, he shouldn't have come. I don't want this kind of good life anymore; you can leave it for Lisa. "I wish you both a lifetime of happiness and lots of children," I said it calmly, without hysteria or breakdown, as simply

as when I left Peter's house that day, as if saying I won't be here for the next meal. Peter's pupils flashed with an almost imperceptible surprise. All these days, he probably thought my request for a divorce was a moment of impulsiveness due to Mike's death. After all, I had proposed leaving before, but it always ended up unresolved. His suspicion was understandable. "Tina, are you sure?" "This was my most resolute decision, one that wouldn't change. Isn't my leaving also what you've wanted all these years?" After a moment of silence, Peter nodded with a mocking smile. "You

said it. Don't come to me with regrets in the future." Watching his departing figure, I couldn't help but wonder: do I even have a future? That night, I saw Lisa's new social media post: finally together. The picture was of a brand new diamond ring on her finger. Chapter six: The cancer cells had spread throughout my body, and I wasn't sure to what extent. I faced it with a smile, even somewhat looking forward to death. After all, on that day, I would be able to see Mike again. I haven't seen him for over half a month

and miss him dearly. However, I hadn't thought about Peter once. Despite not seeing him for many days in the past, I used to care for him meticulously. When he went on business trips, I packed his luggage, managed the household affairs, and handled relationships with relatives and friends. He attended social gatherings and came back drunk. I would change his clothes and feed him hangover soup. He and I would share a bed, but dream different dreams, and late at night, he would call Lisa to assure her of his safety. I was busy inside and out, but the

woman he always had by his side was Lisa. During his business trips, he wouldn't even answer my calls. The few times he did, it was Lisa who answered. "Lisa naturally became the one beside Peter. She smiled and told me, 'Peter is asleep.' No wonder he despises you; do you only know how to bother him?" I told her, "Take good care of him." "Do you need to say that? Do you really think of yourself as his wife? If you hadn't schemed against him, did you really think you could marry him?" At that moment, I was speechless.

Without these matters, I lived much more lightly. To hang on a bit longer, I still went to the hospital, not for treatment but just to get some medication to last until Christmas. Mike loved Christmas; if I go to see him on that day, he would surely be happy. Walking through the bustling crowd, I must have looked too unhealthy. Despite being wrapped in thick clothing and a scarf, the empty sleeves revealed my emaciated frame. After getting the medicine and leaving the hospital, Dr. Henry, wearing a white coat, chased after me. I turned to look at him

as he walked closer, his gaze fixed on my face. I covered my face with the scarf, afraid of being recognized. After all, no one but a severely ill person would lose weight so drastically in such a short time. A sickly kind of thinness. "Tina," Henry seemed like he wanted to say something but ended up sighing instead. "Where are you going now?" I grunted, "The station." "I'll take you there." For some reason, tears welled up in my eyes. I wanted to refuse, but Henry had already started walking ahead. The road outside the hospital saw many people

every day; I wasn't the only one suffering from a terminal illness, alone and destitute. Henry's voice sounded in my ear. "After I left last time, did Peter misunderstand you?" "He used to always misunderstand things between you and me." I shook my head. "No, we are divorced." "I was surprised when I heard about your marriage while studying abroad. When I was leaving, he came to find me and threatened me not to leave. He said you..." Henry lowered his head, looking... At our two shadows on the ground, I chuckled, "Forget it." But Peter is truly contradictory; he

told me not to like you, yet he only said he saw you as a sister. I stopped in my tracks. When did he say that? After Lisa appeared, I remembered that before Lisa appeared, Peter would suddenly come and snatch my soda drink, what I had drunk, then kiss my cheek and remind me, "Don't drink too much cold stuff; this K belongs to me now." But that was so long ago, long enough that I almost forgot. We had such beautiful memories. Many people noticed the ambiguity between us. At first, Peter didn't explain. I found him and

followed him that evening. His shadow was elongated by the sunset under the sycamore tree; his eyes were affectionate. I asked him, "Why don't you explain?" He retorted, "Explain what?" In the sweltering atmosphere, Peter blinked, about to say something when the driver's car arrived to pick us up. After we returned home, Peter went alone to his father's study and stayed there for a long time. After that, Peter suddenly became cold, no longer taking me out for meals, not even picking me up. I went to find him a few times, but he always said, "Don't bother me."

I didn't know what happened and tried my best to please him, but it was all in vain. Soon after Lisa appeared, he no longer drank my soda or kissed me, and he became increasingly distant from me. When a friend asked him, "Aren't you with Tina? Why are you still entangled with Lisa?" he frowned in displeasure and said, "I only see Tina as a sister. If not for her father, she would even be qualified to be my sister." No wonder he had such a cold expression when I called him on my birthday and sternly warned me,

"Tina, you're here because of your father; there's no other reason. Don't go around telling people about our relationship. Before you speak, ask yourself if you deserve it." Such cold words broke my heart. A few days later, my mother also told me not to dream of climbing high; we were just guests in Peter's house and had to be cautious. Since then, I put away my unwarranted fantasies and affections until these feelings almost faded. Then my mother sent me to Peter's bed. Since then, my life has been filled with regret and remorse. In front of Henry, I

let go and said, "Peter and I have no relationship." Those words reached Peter's ears within hours. The desolate night sky enveloped the dark vehicle. Peter stood by the car, having taken off his coat and wearing only a suit. Smoke curled around his fingers, enveloping him, making him seem unreal. "No relationship? Tina, you did give me a child." He still remembered; we had a child. Henry must have told him. I had no strength to delve into it; I just smiled and said, "The child is gone, isn't that no relationship at all?" Peter was momentarily choked, as

a cigarette burned to its end, almost scorching his fingers. He tenderly said, "Tina, there will be more children." "No, there won't. Mike was one of a kind; there will be no more." Not denying, I followed his words. "Yes, you and Lisa will have many children. I just want to find a quiet place to spend the last days of my life." "And what about you?" Peter asked with a mocking tone. "Are you going to have children with Henry?" My mind was swelling, not noticing his use of "you" again. I just wanted to get rid of this

man who caused me so much pain. The more I saw him, the more I thought of Mike; even my tone became desperate. "You might as well think that." As I turned to leave, Peter got angry and grabbed my arm tightly. His usually emotionless face showed a hint of turmoil. "Have you forgotten? You are still my wife!" Soon... I won't... The wind rushed into my throat, bringing a bitter taste. Peter scrutinized me as if trying to discern the truth in my words. After a moment, he concluded, "Tina, your scare tactics are as foolish as ever. Do

you think you can survive without me?" "Is it just a scare? No one would use their own life to scare him. Besides, with or without him, it seems I can't go on living after this." To force me to come back, Peter didn't finalize the division of our divorce assets. He went out of his way to humiliate me, even reclaiming the house I was living in. I was homeless while he was marrying someone new. No one can remarry less than a month after their child has died, but Peter did. The news of his and Lisa's wedding

reached my ears through many mouths: how joyful the occasion was, how furious it made his father, how pleased Peter's family was, and how much gossip was spread. I knew it all, but to me, it was just a joke. I'm no longer part of this joke, so why should I care? When Lisa called, I was swallowing medication with warm water; the bitterness flowed through my body, so overwhelming it made me want to vomit. "Tina, I'm going to marry Peter. The wedding is at the end of next month." What does that have to do with me? "Forget

it." Without saying another word, I simply replied, "Congratulations," then I hung up and continued taking my medication. Little did I know, when Lisa made that call, Peter was right beside her, looking dejected—not at all like a groom. He must have realized by now that the divorce was real and that I no longer had feelings for him. Homeless like a stray dog. When Peter called, it was probably to mock me. I was standing at the station entrance with my luggage, watching the... endless stream of people, his voice dreamlike and unreal, came through the phone. "Tina, I'll

give you one more chance. Do you want to come back?" My eyes felt dry; he was still soft-hearted. Maybe he was reminiscing about old times and wanted to persuade me to return. But why didn't he show any mercy and stay with Mike when he was alive? It's too late; no one needs this kind of concession anymore. I held Mike's teddy bear, which still carried the scent of a child and the faint warmth of his skin. Touching it felt like touching Mike's soul. "Peter, I will never come back. Never again." I looked down at the teddy

bear's eyes as if looking into Mike's soul and trembled as I said, "In the past, I wronged you. I'm sorry. I apologize on behalf of my mother. Actually, I planned to divorce you a few years ago, but your father promised to take care of me and disagreed. That's what delayed you and Lisa. I'm truly sorry." After saying that, I hung up the phone. Before boarding the bus, I received a text message from Henry: "Tina, you have advanced gastric cancer. Why don't you seek treatment?" **Chapter 7** When Henry found me, I was by the seaside. This

was Mike's last wish. I made a list intending to fulfill his wishes within the limited time I had. The first item: celebrate a birthday with Dad—I crossed it off. The second item: go to the seaside with the family. After the divorce, I was the only family Mike had left; this wish was considered fulfilled. Standing by the seaside, the sand was soft and damp, the waves gently lapped at my feet, and the vast blue ocean was tainted by my tears. I wanted to make up for it, but my sobs only grew louder. How wonderful would it

have been if I had taken Mike here when he was still alive? At least he wouldn't have left with so many regrets. But back then, I always wanted the whole family to be together. Peter couldn't be absent, yet in the end, I stood alone by the seaside. The wind and sand made every part of my body ache. I was struggling to make it back to the hotel when I reached my room. There stood Henry, like an apparition; his silhouette overlapped with his rage. His professional demeanor as a doctor was fully evident at that moment. "Tina,

do you know you're courting death? A patient not seeking treatment, traveling so far? Wasn't that a death wish?" I didn't have time to take painkillers before the pain made me faint. Fortunately, I fainted next to a doctor; otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to fulfill Mike's third wish. Dr. Henry wanted to take me to the hospital, but at my stage, it would just be a waste of hospitalization fees. I barely had any money left. Previously, Henry had paid for my medical expenses; he didn't come from a wealthy background. When he was in school, he always

wore a white shirt that was so washed out and wrinkled that it turned gray in the sunlight. You could see the fuzz on the fabric. Unlike Peter's affluence, Henry lived a frugal life. Because of this frugality, I needed to repay him. The man I had loved for ten years was no longer by my side. In the end, it was Henry who saved me and paid for my hospitalization and medication. I asked him, "Why are you being so good to me? It had been a long time since anyone treated me so well." Henry said nothing; he

just brought a clean scarf and put it around my neck. Then he said, "You were good to me before." "Was I? I don't remember at all." It turns out that being sick can affect your memory. "Back then, you only had eyes for Peter; of course, you wouldn't remember helping someone like me." For some reason, I heard resentment in his voice. Henry knew how to save people; he gave me medicine and looked at my sickly face. He said earnestly, "Painkillers won't save you in your condition. You should start chemotherapy as soon as possible." "Can chemotherapy save

me? It would only make me suffer again and leave me dying in an ugly state. I didn't want that. I wanted to die beautifully so Mike would recognize me. I didn't want to scare him." Henry's silence was the answer. He was a doctor, but no doctor could guarantee a cancer patient's life expectancy with certainty. I held the cup of hot water with a calm acceptance of my fate. "Dr. Henry, since you're here, can you do me a favor?" Henry turned his face away, but I still saw the glimmer of tears at the corner of his

eyes. "If you need help with your final arrangements—" "I won't do it! No, that's not it; I would never let such a pure person deal with such grim matters. Can you take a photo of me and burn it for me after I die?" The terrace of the seaside restaurant had a magnificent view of the vast ocean. I stood there in clean clothes, but my fragile body couldn't withstand the wind for long. Henry helped me take a picture by the sea. This photo was for Mike—to tell him that his wish was fulfilled by his mom. I

leaned against the terrace railing, showing the first genuine smile in days. Henry did his best to take a good picture, but a patient can never look truly beautiful. As I tried to smile, someone suddenly appeared behind Henry and snatched the phone. He looked down at the photos—each one of me by the sea, all taken by Henry. The beautiful moment shattered; my photos were deleted one by one. In the faint light, I saw Peter gripping the… Phone his knuckles white, his jaw tight, his eyes seem to be looking at a pair of adulterers. "Tina, how long

have I been looking for you? Have you been with him all this time?" Henry stepped forward, probably to explain my condition. I held on to him, using his hand to support my body. "Haven't congratulated you on your wedding yet." I looked around. "Where's Lisa?" The four of us sat at the same table. The last time this happened was in school. All these years later, Lisa hadn't changed a bit; she was still the one who talked the most at the table. She served me food, oblivious to the absurdity of the situation. "Tina, it's only been a

few days, but you've lost so much weight." It wasn't just weight; even my lips were bloodless. Her comment made Peter look at me; his eyes seemed pained, but it was probably my illusion. How could he feel pain for me? "Is this how Mr. Henry takes care of you?" What did this have to do with Henry? To me, he was just an old classmate and a doctor. I was grateful he left his work to find me, persuade me to undergo chemotherapy, and stay with me for two days. What right did Peter have to criticize him? "How

he takes care of me is our business." For the first time, I left Peter without a response. When I was a student, I followed him around like a little tail, like a shadow. After we got married, no matter how he neglected me, and Mike, I still regarded him as my husband. I waited for him until the early morning, made him hangover soup, and cleaned him up when he was sick. I took care of him tirelessly, but that Tina died along with Mike, long gone. Lisa laughed awkwardly and put her hand on Peter's. "Peter, didn't I

tell you? Tina is surely fine. See? You were worrying for nothing, weren't you?" Peter pulled his hand away. It was then I noticed that the ring on Lisa's hand was gone, and Peter was wearing the wedding ring that we used to share. What did this mean? All these years of marriage, I was the only one wearing this ring. It was like our marriage had always been my solo act. Now that I had quit, Peter put the ring back on. How ironic. "Tina, I remember you used to love spicy food," said Lisa as she placed a

piece of spicy grilled lamb in my bowl. The intense spiciness made my throat uncomfortable. Henry pushed the plate away. "What she liked in the past doesn't necessarily mean she likes it now. With stomach cancer, eating spicy food can be fatal." Henry was trying to help me, but Lisa teased, "Dr. Henry still loves protecting Tina. I always said you two were a perfect match. Congratulations, you finally ended up together!" "Have you said enough?" Peter's voice was stiff. Embarrassment and panic flashed across Lisa's face. Peter would never talk to her like that; even I was surprised. He

cherished Lisa, protecting her like she was precious, never speaking harshly. Now, he was cold to her over a joke. Besides, during our school days, he didn't mind joining Lisa in teasing us. When Henry and I ate together, Lisa would suddenly appear and tease us with ambiguous remarks. Peter stood by her side, looking at us coldly, and then he would say, "So much talk over a meal! You two really are a pair." He had said that before, but now he didn't allow Lisa to say it. Peter pushed the meat back to me. I didn't like it,

but he always forced me to eat it. "I don't believe eating one bite will hurt. Will you be satisfied if I eat it?" I picked up my chopsticks with a sense of resignation. My heart echoed. I had loved him once, lived with him out of guilt, and now I had nothing left. He just wanted to drive me to my death. Before he could answer, I ate the meat under Peter's stunned gaze, chewing and swallowing it. Henry suddenly snatched my chopsticks. "Tina, do doctors always make such a fuss? It wasn't poison. It wouldn't kill me." I

didn't want to die yet; I just wanted to be free from Peter. It was strange: when we were married, I longed to see him, but he was never home. After the divorce, he always appeared, but what use was it to me now? Sudden pain gripped me, covering my mouth. My face turned pale. Henry stood up and blurted out, "You claim to be Tina's husband, but she has stomach—" His voice cut off. I gripped his hand tightly. Peter was puzzled. "Stomach? What stomach issues?" As soon as I said it, I couldn't help coughing, bending over. A

crimson stain appeared in my palm. How could it be blood? If it was just a stomach issue—since returning from the seaside, Peter's visits had become more frequent while my complexion worsened. He dragged me to the hospital. I shook off his hand. "Stop bothering me, okay?" My determination made Peter panic. "Tina, you never told me you had stomach problems." My throat was dry, and my hoarse voice was like a rusty saw cutting through rotten wood, widening the distance between Peter and me. "It's just a stomach issue. You should go care for Lisa. Aren't you afraid? Really

marry her?" Peter gripped my wrist tightly, his warmth blending with mine. Without Mike, what use is the title of Peter’s wife? I only wish you lots of children. Peter might have many children in the future, but there would never be another Mike; he was the first child in Peter's lifelong regret. After Mike died, Peter rarely showed his grief, but now he stood before me with such sorrow, asking earnestly, "Tina, in your heart..." Who is more important, this child or me? Mike is more important. I bit my lip, swallowing my pain and bitterness. If it weren't

for Mike, our marriage wouldn't have lasted this long. In that moment, something seemed to shatter in Peter's eyes. I shook him off, went upstairs, and locked the door. I took a lot of painkillers, but before the medicine took effect, the pain in my abdomen caused multiple organs to act up. It felt like a giant hand was moving inside me, scratching and tearing—a living hell. I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting. I saw a streak of red blood. Looking down as I closed the window, Peter was still standing there like a statue in the night breeze. Exhausted,

I collapsed on the bed. I didn't know how much time passed before my phone rang. It was Peter, sounding drunk. Unaware of his words, I could only make out, "Tina, I miss Mike." I hung up and painfully dragged his number into the blacklist. I couldn't forgive myself; this illness was my punishment, and I accepted it willingly. But before I died, two of Mike's wishes were still unfulfilled. Chapter 8 Item three: Dad can agree to raise a kitten. He said that all his kindergarten classmates have one and he wants one too. But when Peter heard this,

he showed a disgusted expression and said to the child, "Isn't raising you enough?" He didn't want another bond with me, and I understand that. However, he shouldn't speak to the child like that. We had a big argument that day, and he called me an unreasonable shrew. I told him he didn't deserve to be a father. He coldly laughed three times. "Do you think I wanted to be this kind of father?" My blood surged, and I rushed at him, slapping him. He pushed me onto the broken glass, and my palm was bleeding. He left without a

care. That day, I thought Mike had been taken to school by the driver, but he was hiding in the house. He wiped the blood off my hand, crying and confused. His little face was wrinkled, and he wiped away tears, saying, "Mom, I don't want the kitten anymore. I don't want it ever again." Mike is so young, and his wishes are simple. I wanted to fulfill his wish, so I bought another kitten. It was also pure white, small, and soft. Holding it in my arms, it was well-behaved and didn't meow much. Mike loved it, and he

took good care of it. We named it Kitty. During those days, Peter didn't come home. But when he returned, he threw Kitty out. Mike said it was okay, but I knew he was still upset. I went into the pet store to look at more kittens for Mike. They came in various colors—some lazy, some lively. One caught my eye; it had pink paws and was all white except for a black mark on its ear. I recognized it immediately. It was Kitty. It had grown a bit chubby with round cheeks. When we first got it, it was

so small that Mike could hold it with both hands. The day Peter discarded it, Mike didn't say anything, but the next morning his pillow was damp from tears. Seeing Kitty was like seeing Mike again. I couldn't contain my excitement. Tapping on the glass, the pet store staff rushed over, pushing me away. They probably thought I was crazy, but I wasn't. I was just overwhelmed with emotion. To have Kitty back felt like a second chance. But the person who came to pick up Kitty wasn't Mike; it was Lisa. She walked over from outside the pet store,

our eyes locking. She glanced at the cat and said, "Tina, do you like Belle?" The kitten was brought out, and I watched my husband being taken away by Lisa. I saw Mike's cat snuggling in her arms, getting close to her. "We call her Belle," Lisa said. "Would you like to pet her?" She wasn't called Kitty anymore, but she was still Kitty to me. I remembered—I couldn't help myself. I lunged to grab the cat, scaring Lisa. She stepped back. "Tina, what are you doing? Are you always this possessive? It's Mike's cat, not yours!" I shouted, my

emotions in turmoil, my stomach twisted in pain. Lisa looked amused. "Tina, Peter gave her to me. Why should she be yours? You've monopolized him for so many years, and now you want to snatch a cat too?" It was Peter—he took Mike's cat and gave it to Lisa. Why did he have the right? Even if he hated me, Mike was innocent. When did my things become gifts for Lisa? Probably since his birthday. Ever since Lisa appeared, Peter's attention followed her. She was outstanding, and they seemed like a perfect match. Peter would get upset if Lisa didn't

give him a birthday gift. That night, Peter sat on the steps, gazing at the moon. His youthful face was handsome, bathed in moonlight, his eyes looked hollow and dim. He asked me, "Tina, do you think she forgot my birthday?" He was talking about Lisa. I had my own sadness and gave him the watch I'd saved up to buy. "Maybe she's busy. This is for you." Peter took it without even looking. The next day, he picked me up with Lisa. I saw my watch on her wrist. Later, it was the driver Peter sent to pick her

up, then my designed sketches for her competition, and eventually, the opportunity to go abroad. That day, Peter stood before me unapologetic. "Tina, Lisa needs to go abroad more than you. She's talented and shouldn't be held back." On that same day, my mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer, and her time was limited. She wanted Peter to take me abroad; it was her dying wish. I couldn't. Help but sit by my mother's bedside and cry all night. I wasn't sure if I was crying over the lost opportunity to go abroad, the impending loss of my mother, or

Peter's heartlessness. At that moment, I didn't understand how deadly a child's tears could be in a mother's eyes—tears that could lead my otherwise unremarkable, honest mother to disown Peter. On the night before Peter and Lisa left the country, I slept with him. I understood my mother's intentions; she feared that Peter would marry Lisa, leaving me without a place in his home after her passing. If I had known the drink was tainted, I wouldn't have taken it, but Peter didn't believe me. He pinned me to the hotel bed, questioning my relationship with Henry, accusing me of

climbing into his bed with ulterior motives. I denied any knowledge. He laughed cruelly, tightening his grip; his words cut like a blade tearing open my chest. "You're just like your mother—a born vampire." Those were the last few days of my mother's life. With scars on my face, I confronted her, blaming her. I asked her directly, "What was your relationship with Peter's father?" Her face turned pale, the oxygen mask muffling her voice. She whispered, "Who told you?" Peter. Tears flowed again as I confessed. He said that if a mother couldn't succeed, the daughter would take her

place. My mother shook her head stiffly, crying. I asked, "What should I do now, Mom?" That was our final conversation—our last meeting. In my dreams, I knelt at her grave, admitting my mistakes, but the hand that reached out to comfort me was soft, warm, and smelled of childhood innocence; it was Mike's. Yet, in an instant, his hand grew cold, his body rigid. I held him, wailing, shouting, "Is there no one to save my child?" No one could save him. I watched him take his last breath in my arms. Later, I learned that my mother and

Peter's father had almost been together, but her illness and my feelings for Peter changed everything. She wanted to ensure my future, even if it meant a bitter parting. Yet, I disappointed her. I lost Peter's wife's status, my child, and contracted the same illness as her. The weight was agonizing. Here I was, day after day, waiting for Peter to return home. But this time, after just half an hour, I felt exhausted. Life slipped away. At this rate, would I survive until Christmas? Mike always loved Christmas, and this year, Kitty was my gift to him. For Kitty's

sake, I had to find Peter and confront him. Chapter 10 When Peter arrived, I waited downstairs at our old home. His face was ashen, and he asked gently, "Why aren't you resting in your room? Is your stomach still bothering you?" Stomach issues? It was cancer. In a desperate tone, I asked, "Did you give Kitty to Lisa?" "What Kitty?" He didn't know Mike's cat's name. "Gave it to Lisa and renamed it Belle." I couldn't laugh or cry. Calmly, I said, "That's Mike's cat; it belongs to him." Peter's eyes revealed a mix of emotions. He reached out

to touch my face, an apology in his expression. "Let's go upstairs first; we'll talk about the cat later." But I couldn't wait. "All I want is Mike's cat!" My voice rose uncontrollably. The moment the anger surged, I couldn't help but cough, bending over, my face flushed as I coughed until I felt dizzy. Peter patted my back to help me breathe easier, but I pushed his hand away, looking urgent. "Don't worry; I'll call and get it." Now he took out his phone, glanced at the empty coffee table, and yelled in frustration, "Why is there no water

here? Is everyone dead?" It was rare for him to care if I had water to drink. After making the call, I waited for Peter's response. He walked over, speaking firmly, "I'll bring Kitty back for you. Can you wait here for me?" "I had another matter to address. Can you give me my share of the money after our divorce? I need it urgently." I had to repay Henry; he wasn't from a wealthy family, and I'd spent too much money lately. "Are you here to ask about the cat or for money?" "Both," I replied. His expression grew

even more complicated. Weakly, he pulled out a card from his wallet and handed it to me. "The password is Mike's birthday." It turned out he remembered Mike's birthday—remembered that date yet never showed up. I took the card from him, but he didn't let go. "I'll give you the money, but it's not divorce compensation." Peter continued solemnly, "Tina, wait for me. I'll go find Mike's cat, and we can start anew. I've redecorated Mike's room, and next time, we'll celebrate his birthday together. Is that okay?" "But I won't wait for Mike's next birthday anymore. Why couldn't Peter

have agreed to celebrate Mike's birthday sooner? It's too late; Peter. It's truly too late." This weight feels like a lifetime. As pain tormented me, I gazed at Peter's old home. I remembered the first time I entered here with my mother. Peter still looked like a young man then. Later, we got married in this house. On the night I wore my wedding dress, I waited for everything, but nothing came. Soon after, my mother passed away in our new home with Peter. I cried; he found me annoying and threw me out. During the months I carried Mike,

I remained immersed in grief. By the time I realized I was pregnant, it was too late for surgery. Peter repeatedly urged me to terminate the pregnancy; he truly despised this child. I refused. I raised Mike step by step, administering his shots and medicine, dressing him warmly, soothing him to sleep. His tears broke my heart, and his laughter eased. My worries. Mike knew his father didn't love him or me. To gain a little more love, he hurt himself deliberately—catching colds and feigning fear—all to make Peter visit us. But that wasn't what I wanted. I only wanted

Mike to be well. I'd whispered to him, "Don't hurt yourself; nothing matters more than you. Besides, lying and deceit are wrong." But Mike didn't listen; he was just a child desperate to see his parents together. Soon, Peter discovered Mike's ploy. Even when he heard of Mike's death, he thought it was another joke. In this house, I met Peter, lost my mother, had a child, smiled, and lost him again. Perhaps we've reached the end. These fleeting memories flooded my mind. Peter returned in the early morning. He cradled a pure white kitten in his arms, touching my

nose with its paw. "Tina, here's the kitty you wanted. I found her." Is this kitty? I could barely see. When I reached for the cat, I hesitated. The kitten's eyes were a different color; its ears matched, and the size was similar, yet something was off. It was intuition. "What's wrong?" Peter asked. He let the cat lie in his lap, saying, "When Mike was little, I worried that having a pet would harm him and you'd be upset, so I didn't allow him to have one." I lowered my hand; I didn't want to hold the cat anymore.

This wasn't Kitty. Why deceive me with a fake kitty? If Mike knew, he'd blame me. "Peter, there's no need to lie at this point. Here, I'd waited a lifetime, yet I didn't even get Mike's cat in the end." Peter hesitated. "Why? About what?" "This isn't Kitty," I said firmly. "Where's Kitty?" He'd really gone to Lisa for this. Upon closer inspection, his face bore a palm print, and his collar was wrinkled. They must have argued. Yet he returned, still holding the cat to comfort me. The kitty fell from a height just half an hour after Peter

made the call. Lisa was the culprit, but no one could punish her. I felt pain and grief, yet I was numb. "I'm leaving." "Where are you going?" Peter let the cat slip from his arms, his expression pleading. But what was he asking for? Home. My strength drained away. Darkness enveloped me, and as I whispered three words—find Mike—I collapsed in front of Peter. Chapter 11 So noisy! Who's knocking, calling my name? I struggled to stay conscious, but my thoughts were muddled. The noise was faint, fragmented, like someone yelling, breaking things. The family doctor's collar was pulled

up. "She's my wife; she's sick. Why didn't you tell me?" I saw it—the doctor from Peter's house stood there, accompanied by the indifferent Henry. He confronted Peter. "She's your wife, and she's dying. Did you only find out about her stomach cancer now?" "Peter, please calm down," the doctor tried to maintain order. "Two months ago, I called you; you said Tina's situation had nothing to do with you." So he knew all along. I exhaled slowly, the oxygen mask pressing against my face. Each breath felt like a countdown—precious and difficult. Peter approached. Before my impending death, I

witnessed that once proud man bow his head. He hesitated to hold my hand, fearing he might hurt me. His hand hovered in the air like a child trying to mend a broken toy, unsure where to begin. A moment passed; he covered his face, and I faintly heard his sobbing echo through the hospital room. So noisy! Could he please stay away? Unfortunately, I couldn't speak or scold him. I lost track of time. Dr. Henry came over. My eyelids fluttered as I saw his white-coated figure standing behind Peter. "You're disturbing her," Henry said softly. "Get out!" Peter's

voice cracked—hoarse and desperate. He cried for a long time—annoyingly long, I thought. My tears were the most, but he wept too—for me. People only regret when it's too late. Henry's words pierced like needles. "Back then you doubted us. Even after marriage, you still doubted. But did you ever consider that she just wanted to be your wife?" "I'm not worthy of Tina. I never expected her to fall ill; truly, I didn't." The hospital was filled with critically ill patients; they couldn't eat, surviving on pills. Coughing blood was the least of their troubles. The pain of daily

blood draws was unbearable. How could Peter know? He treated my actions as mere tantrums after Mike's death, thinking I'd eventually come back. They argued by my bedside, utterly indifferent to my impending demise. Peter gently tucked my hand under the blanket, turning away from Henry. "Aren't you a doctor? Can't you save Tina? She no longer wants to live." "No one can save her now," at this point, Henry spoke the truth. "Get out!" Peter repeated. The room fell silent. My body felt cold; my hand was lifted and pressed against Peter's cheek. Tears fell as he kissed my

palm. "Why didn't you tell me about your illness?" "Because Mike was gone. You didn't even bother treating your own sickness." "What should I do? Your heart only had room for that child. Did you ever share any of it with me?" Peter slapped his own face with my limp hand. "I was wrong. How could I be jealous of Mike or even jealous of Henry? We were husband and wife. Tina, feel free to wake up and scold me, hit me. I'm willing." He called my name, and I heard it. I longed to break free, but I saw

Mike waving at me. He called me "Mom," saying, "It's so dark here, and I'm scared." I wanted to rush over and embrace him, yet Peter's grip held me back. Why wouldn't he let go? At this moment... Chapter 12 A needle pierced my skin, pain making me furrow my brow. My toes... Curled up, every joint seemed to ache. Medication flowed into my body, momentarily easing the pain, but the agony of life couldn't be numbed by drugs. Busy figures moved around my bedside—doctors, nurses—their anxious voices surrounded me. The life signs on the ECG were faint, teetering on

the brink. Once again, I glimpsed Mike; he sat on a soft, grassy patch, his small body nestled in the green. When he looked up, his soft face bore dimples, and his smiling eyebrows curved. He sweetly called me, "Mom." I wanted to hold him, but someone else kept calling my name, pulling me back. Reality twisted. Peter's face appeared before me; he kept calling my name, but I wanted to follow Mike. I wished to say, "Stop, let me go. This is my final wish," but he didn't stop. In these days, he brought the best doctors to save

me, yet no matter how good the medicine, I had no will to survive. My consciousness followed Mike into the dream, yet in reality, Peter clung to me, refusing to let me go until the ECG showed a flicker of life. He'd saved me, he claimed to be my savior; my life now owed to him. He urged me to cherish it. I lay in the hospital for a week, Peter never leaving my side, but I knew I couldn't hold on any longer. At life's end, I saw the person I least wanted to encounter on Christmas Eve. Lisa

stood by my bed, probably relishing my pitiful state. She observed my ugliness and illness, taking it all in, and she said, "It's karma." She added, "It's Peter's retribution. For so many years, he played me, used me, made me devoted to him, only to tell me in the end that he never loved me. He even wanted to take away the cat he gave me. Why should he?" The words echoed in my stagnant heart, one after another. In the end, neither of us got what we wanted. "Tina, you must be wondering why he hates your child," Lisa

said, lowering her head and leaning in close to my ear. Before I could even react, she delivered a fatal blow: "Because he thought it was your child with Henry. I told him that I faked the paternity test, and he believed it." A few laughs escaped her; she was trembling, tears welling up in her eyes. "He really believed it." My chest was pounding violently; I couldn't tell if it was anger or something else anymore. Yet Lisa continued, not stopping. "Do you know when your child died? Peter, the biological father, was actually relieved. He thought with the

child gone, he could start over with you. His perceived beginning turned out to be the end." Struggling to open my heavy eyelids, I half-opened my eyes and moved my fingers. The first thing I saw was Peter walking in from outside, dragging Lisa along with him. "Lisa!" I barely managed to say, but she screamed, "Peter, you deserve this! You deserve it!" He did deserve it, and so did I. After Lisa arrived, Peter flew into a rage. He cursed at many people, as if it were a powerless release of frustration. He tried to offer me water, but

I refused to drink from him. I had the nurse do it instead, as he watched on, waiting for the nurse to leave. He tried to wipe my lips; I turned my face away, gazing out at the snow falling outside the window, numbly muttering, "Christmas is coming." "Right?" Peter asked. "Yes, it's Christmas tomorrow. Shall we celebrate together?" I needed to hold on until that day to see my Mike. "Tina, I will make you better," Peter said, grasping my hand forcefully, trying to cover up the nail marks but failing. "I should have known earlier. You... you lost

so much weight. Your complexion is so pale. How did I not realize you were sick?" He didn't realize, but I had told him. I did tell him that day. I asked, "My stomach has been hurting lately. What if it's a terminal illness?" Peter simply put down his chopsticks and said, "Don't die here; it's too ominous." Now it really was a terminal illness. Didn't he think it was ominous now? Chapter 13 Christmas Eve was always bustling and lively. The Christmas tree was beautiful, standing in the center of the mall, adorned with decorations. Pedestrians passing by would

often stop to take photos, and the colorful lights illuminated every smiling face. I sat in the car, wrapped in thick clothing, with my hat covering my eyebrows, leaving only my eyes visible. Through the car window, I gazed at the Christmas night. It was snowing; the snowflakes were white and pure, much like Mike's eyes. They were smiling yet also lost. It was here, too, that I sat with Mike in the car, him pointing to the beautiful Christmas tree. We looked together and saw Peter and Lisa standing under the tree; they were taking a photo together. My

heart tightened, and I quickly covered Mike's eyes. In the vast snow mist, I seemed to see Mike sitting under the tree in a red sweater, touching the small bells hanging on the Christmas tree. "Mom, this is so beautiful!" It was beautiful, but Mike's smiling face was gone, replaced by Peter's anxious expression, his arm around my shoulder, drawing me close. "Tina, are you cold?" I felt cold, and he tried to warm me up, but he forgot that he was as cold as ice. "Do you want to go for a walk?" I shook my head, only glancing

from afar, as if celebrating Christmas for Mike. The snow continued to fall; my strength was waning. Peter seemed to sense my dropping body temperature. He rubbed my wrist, but it was covered in bruises from all the needles. "Tina, are you cold? Can you say something to me?" His cheek pressed against my forehead. Carrying that clean, fresh scent, but it felt so distant, like something from a past life. Over the years, the scent he left me with mostly resembled Lisa's fragrance. Sitting in the car, we watched the snow together. He ran his chin through my hair,

and inside the car, it was quiet and warm. The blizzard was kept at bay, and we watched the snow together. His voice floated softly in my ear like fluff. “Tina, do you remember why I didn't explain things between us that year? I should have told you. Over all these years, I had many opportunities to tell you.” The snow was getting heavier. “Is Mike feeling cold over there?” “It doesn't matter; I will see Mike soon. After all, this is Mike's final wish: to be with his mom forever.” A layer of frost seemed to form on my

eyelids. I closed my eyes, realizing that the last sense to fade away is hearing. My soul felt detached from my body, but Peter's words continued. “Tina, if it weren't for Dad telling me that he was going to marry your mom, if it weren't for him making me see you as a sister, we shouldn't have ended up like this. Do you think so? Tina? Tina, are you feeling cold? Tina, wait for me.” “I won't wait for him. I want to stay far away from him in this life, life and the next, and the one after that.

I never want to see this person again.” The voice became distant, so distant. There were cries, someone calling my name. The light became so dim in my vision; it expanded and contracted. “I’m so tired. My eyelids are heavy.” Unable to lift my hand, I want to hug Mike, but all I catch is a shadow. I keep chasing, crying, running until I reach the end, drenched in sweat, panting heavily. I finally see Mike; he holds a snow-white kitty in his arms. “Mom, you're here! This time, I finally grasp Mike's hand.”