Chapter 2: The Weight of Silence

The hospital corridor stretched before me, cold and endless. Fluorescent light flickered on white tiles, never enough to chase away the emptiness.

I stopped, gripping the railing, my heart pounding in the silence. Then, forcing myself on, I stepped deeper into the tunnel.

At the hospital entrance, I stopped again. My car was already waiting. The amber light from the security post reflected off the glass, revealing my own pale face staring back at me.

Memories surged like a tide, refusing to be held back. I remembered every ritual I had clung to for years.

Every morning at six, the alarm rang. I left my bed to run laps around the garden. Breakfast always meant oats, almond milk, a fruit salad. I had never once touched fried food, never once let a cigarette or a glass of liquor near my lips.

But now, here I was.

I bent forward, bracing myself against the wall, dragging in a deep breath as though letting go for even a moment would mean collapsing right there in the corridor.

Work was stressful, but I had always obeyed strict rhythms: lights out at eleven, phone left far from reach, my eyes closed in deep, disciplined sleep. Sometimes friends teased me for living “like a robot.” I only laughed—health was worth every sacrifice.

And yet… all of it had led me here.

The doctor’s words still resounded in my ears, each syllable like the strike of a hammer:

“Cancer can arise from many causes… a healthy lifestyle does not mean immunity.”

I bit down hard on my lip. A fragile spark of hope flared, wavering like a candle about to be snuffed out:

Maybe… it was a mistake. A careless error buried in thousands of medical records.

I quickened my pace, as though fleeing the shadow of that result. In the hospital restroom, I splashed cold water over my face. The chill against my skin did nothing to cool the burning in my chest. I stared into the mirror: red, trembling eyes, lashes quivering as though one blink might unleash a flood.

For a fleeting moment, I saw a stranger staring back—familiar yet hollow. The mirror seemed to swallow my soul, leaving only an empty shell shaking before it.

I inhaled deeply, straightened my hair, touched up a thin layer of lipstick. I could not let my assistant or driver see me like this. If they knew, the entire family would know—and I would not allow that to happen.

[...]

When I finally stepped outside, the night had swallowed the hospital whole. I opened the car door, my voice startlingly calm, even to myself:

“Driver, take me to the nearest hospital.”

My assistant turned, suspicion in her eyes.

“Miss Elysa… is something wrong?”

I smiled brightly, as though I had just received good news.

“Oh no. The doctor prescribed me some supplements… but the pharmacy here was out.”

She chuckled, trying to ease the air.

“At this hour, I doubt the other hospitals are open either. Why don’t I stop by a pharmacy for you?”

“Mm…” I nodded lightly, eyes shifting away. “Alright.”

The car rolled on. Rain lashed against the windshield, a relentless drumming like fingers tapping out the rhythm of fate. Outside, the city blurred beneath sheets of water. I leaned my head against the seat, my gaze fixed on the streaks of light stretching into smudged ribbons along the road.

Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled up in front of a lone, glowing pharmacy. Its green sign shimmered through the rain like an oasis in the night.

“Miss Elysa,” the driver said respectfully, “please give me your prescription. I’ll buy it for you.”

I froze. My grip tightened on my handbag, lips curling into a brittle smile.

“No need. I’ll do it myself—that way, no mistakes.”

They both nodded, untroubled by suspicion.

I stepped inside. The sharp sting of disinfectant hit me at once, making my stomach knot. Rows of glass shelves gleamed, stacked with colorful boxes. Behind the counter, a middle-aged man looked up and smiled warmly.

“Good evening, miss. What can I get you?”

My lips pressed together. One hand braced against the counter to steady my trembling. Words stuck in my throat; I had to breathe deeply just to force them out:

“I… I was just diagnosed with… late-stage stomach cancer. I… need supplements.”

For a heartbeat, his smile froze. His eyes shifted—confusion, pity, awkward compassion. He bent down without a word, rummaged, then placed a few boxes gently on the counter.

“These will help you keep your strength. I wish you… health.”

I managed a stiff smile, bowed my head in thanks. Shoving the boxes into my bag, I turned quickly, not daring to let him see the tears glistening in my eyes.

Back in the car, my assistant leaned toward me.

“Did you find what you needed, Elysa?”

I nodded faintly, saying nothing more.

The car moved on. Outside, the rain still poured. I pressed my cheek against the cold window, the city drifting past in a blur. Inside my mind, only one question repeated endlessly:

If the result is true… how much time do I have left?

That night, I returned to the familiar silence of my mansion. Everything was still. I had barely stepped into my room when the phone rang. The screen lit up with a name that made my chest tighten: Kael.

I answered. His voice rushed through the line, urgent and warm.

“My love, how did it go today? Everything’s fine, isn’t it?”

I sank onto the bed, my throat closing. For a moment, I nearly broke down, nearly screamed the truth. But instead, my lips shaped the lie:

“Everything… is fine.”

On the other end, silence. I could hear him draw in a long breath, then release it in a strained sigh that tried to swallow all his worry.

“Elysa, are you sure? You sound… exhausted.”

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, then let out a small laugh, sidestepping the weight.

“I’m sure. It’s just… I miss you so much. When will you be back?”

Another pause. Then his voice softened, tender yet edged with ache.

“I miss you too… Two more days. I’ll be home.”

The call ended. I collapsed backward onto the bed. The vast, lavish room felt like a cold, airless box. Covering my face with my hands, I let the tears fall, soaking the pillow.

Kael… if I only have two months left… how much pain will I be condemning you to? Do I have the right to hold on to you, or must I let you go—before everything unravels into tragedy?

Beyond the window, the rain had not ceased. I closed my eyes, clinging to one fragile prayer:

“Please… let the result be wrong.”

On the nightstand, my phone screen glowed, a message from Kael still unopened. In the darkness, that light flickered like a wound refusing to heal.