There was a tumour pressing on my nerves, and my chances of surviving surgery were only 30%.
He advised me to seek conservative treatment in order to live a little longer.
I was stunned, but I finally understood why Anna insisted I only had a cold.
As a medical student, she could not have overlooked the problems on my scans.
She had said it on purpose, hoping to keep Beckham from discovering I was seriously ill, fearing he would feel guilty towards me.
But it was better that he didn’t know.
I didn’t need his guilt, anyway.
I nodded to the doctor and went to get my medication.
I remained calm as I walked out of the hospital, accepting the news that I would die soon.
It appeared that there was nothing left in this world worth holding onto.
I hailed a taxi and returned home.
The room remained dark and shadowy, so I walked over to the curtains and pulled them open.
Sunlight poured in, stinging my eyes for a moment before forcing them shut.
When I opened them again, I noticed Beckham’s lilies on the dining table from a week earlier.
They were wilted, lifeless, and drooping.
We chose the cushions for the sofa together, and I chose the rug on the floor in a pattern I knew Beckham would like…
Looking around, I realised how many memories of us were still present.
I let out a bitter laugh, took out a large garbage bag, and began tossing in everything–the wilted flowers, vase, and all, as well as every small detail I had previously carefully arranged.
I tied the bag shut, throwing away the last of my hopes.
After an entire afternoon of packing, I managed to fill only one box with my belongings. As I gazed out at the darkening evening sky, I wondered where I should go next.
The doorbell rang, and I heard Beckham’s voice from outside.
He’d come back.
I opened the door, and he stumbled inside, smelling of alcohol.
He collapsed on the sofa and noticed the suitcase I had placed next to the coffee table.
He froze for a moment before slowly asking, “Are you leaving?”
I replied: “We should take some time apart to cool down.”
“Now that you’re back, I’ll return the keys to you. “This is your house; it should be returned to you.”
With that, I grabbed my suitcase and prepared to leave.
Beckham suddenly stood up and blocked my path.
“Don’t go,” he said, his breath heavy with alcohol and his tone almost pleading.
I shook my head, convinced that I must have imagined it.
“Beckham, if you love someone else, just let me go,” I told him.
But he drew me into his arms with a sudden force.