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He had been coming late recently,but today I was hypersensitive.
He set his tablet on the bedside table."The lab report's almost done.Could you please validate the data for me later?"
His tone was light,his eyes glinting with hope,as if seeing the finish line a few inches right in front of him.
I didn't respond.
He offered me fruit, already peeled and cut.I slapped it away,the vibrant colors scattering across the sterile floor,stark against the hospital's pallor.
He froze,then coaxed gently,"What's wrong?Bad mood?Was chemo too painful today?"
My anger fizzled out.I opened my mouth several times before muttering,"I haven't eaten lunch."
He looked apologetic."Sorry,I lost track of time working on the report.I thought you'd eaten.What do you want?I'll get it now."
Working on the report?I glanced at the tablet.Of course—he didn't know when my condition might worsen and leave him without my help. He had to finish the report before I die.
Was his acting that good,or was I just blind?He seemed so sincere.
A malicious impulse rose.
"I want spicy chicken from Kingston Street."
His hand paused while picking up the fruit,then resumed."Okay."
Kingston Street was over twenty miles away—where they'd watched that movie yesterday.
I didn't actually want it.I was just picking a fight.But when he agreed,I however felt no satisfaction.
While he was gone,I checked the report on the tablet.
My illness made it hard to focus for long,but it was my experiment.Splitting it into chunks,I forced myself to finish validating.
He returned at dinner time.
Since chemo started,my appetite had been poor.The greasy,spicy chicken,once my favorite,now turned my stomach upside down.
But I ate stubbornly,as if punishing myself.
The consequences came fast.After a few bites,I rushed to the bathroom,vomiting violently.
When I recovered,Ethan handed me a cup of water.I caught a fleeting look of disgust he couldn't hide in time.
I pressed the flush valve repeatedly,burying my head in my knees,refusing to look up.
"Get out—get out!"
I hurled the cup at him,screaming hysterically.
I couldn't bear to imagine how I looked.
Hideous.Utterly hideous.
I wasn't a polished woman.Once,to meet a deadline,we spent a whole a week without showering.
When the results came in,we laughed at each other's greasy,disheveled faces.
Back home,I soaked myself in the tub,scrubbing myself over three times.
But now,my disgrace was mine alone—unbearable,revolting disgrace.
It took ages to drag myself to the sink.The woman in the mirror was gaunt,aged.Chemo had left me bald,my eyes swollen,I looked like a slovenly nun.
Compared to that radiant girl,I felt nothing but utterly inferior.
I tidied myself and left the bathroom.Ethan looked concerned."Stella,you okay?"
Exhaustion hit me."The doctor says chemo's working.No signs of worsening yet."
After hesitating,I added,"If you're busy the next few days,you don't have to come."
"Alright.Call me if you need anything."
He agreed so quickly that I wanted to slap myself for saying it.
For a moment,I wanted to take it back,but seeing him eagerly packing to leave,I couldn't speak.
I hid in the hospital for days,but Ethan didn't show up.Instead,an unexpected visitor arrived.
The moment the door opened,I recognized her instantly.
