Three Months to Live, One Husband to Lose

1: 1

My memory has been bad since I was a child.

The year I turned ten, I forgot to send my mother a Mother's Day greeting.

Not long after, she divorced my father, took my sister, and vanished without a trace.

I cried and begged forgiveness, and my father, frantic and worn down, shoved me away.

Your mom doesn't love you anymore. You could cry your eyes blind and she still wouldn't come back!

At twelve, I forgot to buy my father his sleeping pills.

By the time the police came for me, his body had bloated in the water. All he left behind was a farewell letter.

"Clara Henson, Dad's so tired. I don't have the strength to love you anymore."

From that day on, I understood: the moment I forgot something tied to a person, it meant that person had stopped loving me.

So I always left first, before anyone could leave me.

Everyone around me praised how sharp I was, how decisive.

After I married, I never once forgot anything connected to my husband.

I was certain, beyond any doubt, that my marriage was happy.

Until I saw a post from my husband's intern, showing off.

The boss canceled his wedding anniversary just to celebrate my promotion. I'm so lucky!

My fingers shook so badly I accidentally tapped "like."

Wedding anniversary?

Today?

I smoothed out the brain cancer diagnosis and spent the whole afternoon finally accepting the exit ticket fate had handed me.

When my husband, Barnaby Matthews, came home, I was counting up the anniversary gifts he'd given me over the years.

Seven years of marriage. Seven snow globes.

He'd always given them on the day itself. This year he'd given it a week early.

Which meant that a week ago he'd already decided to save today for his assistant.

I heard the sound of his keys going down, and I didn't get up to meet him the way I always had.

Barnaby saw me sitting on the floor and rushed over, lifting me into his arms and setting me gently on the couch, his voice as tender as ever.

"Clara, I really did have something come up today."

He tucked the loose strands of hair back from my face. His cuff carried the perfume his assistant liked.

I frowned and pushed him off.

"I saw it. Mia Henson's post."

Mia Henson. His assistant.

Plenty of people at the company called her the boss's wife.

Three days ago, I'd dressed up carefully and arranged to meet her, thinking I was some warrior defending my marriage.

But the girl just clutched her chest and said her heart condition was acting up.

And just like that, I lost, completely.

I watched my own husband scoop her up and walk out.

Barnaby suddenly gripped my wrist, looking at me as if I'd committed some unforgivable sin.

"I told you not to do anything reckless, and you don't listen to a word of it. Now you're spying on her posts? She has a heart condition. If something happens to her, you'll regret it and it'll be too late!"

"Why would I regret it?"

At my blank confusion, his breathing grew heavier.

"She's your own sister. Don't tell me you still haven't recognized her?"

A window shattered somewhere in my memory.

Old childhood grievances tore themselves loose in the broken glass, turning into a thick dust that clung to my lungs until I could barely breathe.

I finally remembered. I did have a sister, one born with a heart defect.

The whole family had revolved around her since we were small.

The time I suddenly collapsed and split my head open, blood staining half my face, my mother accused me of hurting myself to steal attention.

She locked me alone on the balcony.

After that, no matter how badly my head hurt, I never made a sound about it again.

The doctor said that if I'd gone to the hospital in time back then, it would never have grown into what it is now.

Thinking of the three months the doctor had given me, my throat went tight.

"Why should I always be the one to give in to her? Do you have any idea what today is for me"

Before I could finish, Barnaby took a call.

"Barnaby, I want to apologize to my sister, but my chest hurts so much"

He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his car keys. "Where are you? I'm coming right now!"

"I'm at the restaurant where we had our date."

Date.

I repeated the word silently to myself, and then Barnaby was yanking me up. "Come on!"

My head began to throb again. "I'm not going."

"Clara, you're this cold-blooded. No wonder your mother chose your sister over you back then!"

My mind went blank.

Disappointed, he let go of me, never seeing how close I was to crumpling to the floor.

On his way out, he swept the gifts off the table in one violent motion.

Seven snow globes. Not one survived.

Seven years of marriage, crushed into rubble.

"Barnaby"

I reached for help on instinct.

But the only answer was the heavy slam of the door.

The room went black, and I fainted.

When I woke, the clock read three in the morning.

The house was dead silent.

The living room was scattered with broken glass and puddles of water. I stared at it for a long time, puzzled, unable to remember what any of it had been.

Numbly I swept it all into the trash, without a single pang of loss.

The notes app on my phone lit up with a reminder for an important date.

I frowned, confused.

I turned it off.

I slept straight through until afternoon, when Barnaby suddenly ripped the blanket off me. I jerked awake and shrank back.

His face was livid, as if I'd done something terrible.

Behind him, Mia Henson was smiling, her head nearly resting on his shoulder, calling out sweetly to curry favor.

"Sis~"

2: 2

"I don't have a sister."

Mia's eyes went red, and the way she trembled on the edge of tears took me straight back to our childhood.

Our father came home from a business trip and brought us each a snow globe.

She cried, and both of them became hers.

Now Barnaby was the snow globe we were fighting over.

Did I still want to fight for him?

Looking at our wedding rings glinting side by side on our fingers, I talked myself into it. One more try.

"Barnaby, I"

I hadn't even finished the words through my headache when Mia broke into sobs first.

"Clara, I know you blame me, but no matter what, today is Barnaby's birthday. You shouldn't have made him wait for you that long."

The important date I'd ignored surfaced in my mind, and my voice went thin. "I forgot..."

Barnaby shook his head in disappointment. "You didn't forget. You did it to get back at me."

He curled his lip into a sneer. "I still felt guilty about yesterday. I wanted to make it up to you, to cheer you up... You didn't show, so everything I'd arranged went to Mimi instead."

Something smug rose in Mia's tear-bright eyes.

That was the exact face she used to make every time she won.

Strength drained out of me all at once. I slid the wedding ring off and dropped it on the nightstand.

"Fine. I'll step aside. I wish you a long and happy marriage."

My choice made Barnaby flush with anger.

"Clara Henson, what goes on in your head all day? Spreading filthy rumors about your own sister. You've got a rotten heart!"

"How come you're not the one with a congenital heart condition?"

I gave an involuntary shudder, my head ringing.

Barnaby, wishing I would die?

The bedroom, set to a comfortable warmth, turned in an instant into a cold morgue that chilled me to the bone.

Mia clutched her chest, her face pained. "Clara, if you don't believe me, fine, but how can you not even believe Barnaby?"

Something like tenderness flickered through Barnaby's eyes, but when they landed on our wedding photo, he pulled back the hand that had started to reach for Mia.

He yanked the wardrobe open, grabbed some clothes at random, threw them over my head, and barked out an order.

"I don't have time for your games. Get dressed, we're going to the hospital!"

The hospital?

He knew I was sick?

A small mercy fell into the barren place inside me.

Just as I thought I could finally cry in his arms

his next words shattered the fantasy to pieces.

"Your mother's been diagnosed with kidney failure. The doctors recommend a transplant. Mimi has a heart condition, so the only one your mother can count on is you."

Mia dropped to her knees, weeping. "Clara, please, save Mom."

She cried with her whole heart.

And it made me look cold-blooded.

Still, I had to ask. "Why should I? She's the one who abandoned me!"

After my father died, the police brought me to my mother's house.

I never even made it through the door before Mia threw a basin of water over me.

"Get lost! Mom says she never wants to see you again as long as she lives!"

I became an orphan.

I had no mother!

Barnaby hauled me up, exasperated, as if I were a hopeless case.

"Clara Henson, that's your birth mother, a woman with a terminal illness. Can't you give her a little grace, a little hope?"

"I have a terminal illness too. Who's going to give me grace? Who's going to give me hope?"

Tears rolled down and struck the back of Barnaby's hand. He frowned, uncomfortable.

My pale face reflected in his eyes, and all at once he was studying me, tense.

"What... what illness do you have?"

"Brain cancer."

The air froze for a beat.

The worry that had just risen in Barnaby was torn apart by Mia's cold laugh.

"Clara, if you don't want to save Mom, there's no need to make up a lie like that.

You'll never understand how much fear someone lives with, every minute, every second, when they know they could die at any moment!"

"My life was given to me by Mom. If you won't save her, I will!"

Mia turned and walked out.

Barnaby scolded me in disappointment. "Ungrateful daughter! Next to Mimi, you're nothing!"

With that, he hurried after her.

I hesitated for a long time, then dialed my mother's number.

It went dead three times before she finally picked up.

She launched straight into cursing. "Who the hell is this? In a rush to get yourself reincarnated?"

Over the clatter of mahjong tiles, I said evenly,

"It's Clara Henson. Mia says you need a kidney transplant?"

3: 3

The line went quiet for a few minutes. I could hear her leaving the card room, walking toward the bathroom.

A door slammed, shutting out the noise.

"I knew you'd refuse the test. You've hated me for playing favorites since you were little. You'd fight your sister for anything, even crack your own head open just to spite us."

"Your father died and you didn't even cry, too busy finding your next meal ticket. A greedy little thing like you doesn't have a shred of family feeling in her."

Through the receiver my mother's voice narrowed to a needle and drove itself straight into my chest.

I held back the tears and asked, "The kidney failure. Is it real or not?"

"Fake! Your sister wanted us to make up. I told her there was no point, but she insisted on trying."

Then she laughed, cold. "Well, now we know. You're nothing but an ungrateful mongrel."

Click.

The call ended.

I let out a breath, and then the hurt swallowed me whole.

Mom, how could I not love you?

Too many disappointments in childhood had crippled the arms I once reached out with.

I pulled back into my shell only to protect myself...

I don't know how long I cried before Barnaby called.

"Your mother's missing and you're actually asleep?"

My voice came out hoarse. "She's at the card room. Her illness was faked..."

Barnaby cut me off, hard.

"Slandering your own dying mother. Clara, you make my blood run cold."

Cold?

I shouted into the phone, "Barnaby, I'm the one who's dying!"

But he hung up before I finished.

Right before the line dropped, I heard him call out, "Mimi, what's wrong..."

Like a form of self-torture, I dragged the slider back on the call recording and listened to that last line over and over.

I finally placed it. That same frantic tone. I'd heard it last year, when I miscarried.

Back then his eyes were red as a rabbit's, and he'd held my hand so carefully.

"Clara, you scared me to death. Let's not have a child. It'll just be the two of us for the rest of our lives, growing old together, never apart."

But now Barnaby didn't want me.

So I didn't want him either.

I printed the divorce papers, signed them, and set them in the most obvious spot in the living room.

Then I went to the hospital for the injection.

The doctor said it was expensive, but it would ease the pain.

Except when it came time to pay, I couldn't remember my payment PIN no matter how hard I tried.

The staff assumed I was short on money and told me kindly that they could wait.

The pity in a stranger's eyes brought Barnaby's coldness back to me, and my voice was already breaking when I called him.

"Barnaby, I forgot the PIN..."

He was silent for two seconds, then let out a mocking little laugh.

"The PIN is the day I proposed to you. How could you possibly forget it?"

"You just couldn't manage your little revenge spending spree, so now you're reminding me of the vows I made, blaming me for not letting you throw your tantrums."

"Don't bother. I've transferred every cent on that card to Mimi."

I was so frantic I could barely stand. "That's my money."

Barnaby's patience was gone.

"It's your wild imagination that broke your mother's heart and made Mimi relapse. I'm just cleaning up your mess!"

The call cut off. I stood there dazed for a second, then turned and saw Barnaby coming out of the pharmacy window.

I rushed over and grabbed him.

"Barnaby, give me back my money!"

He froze, caught off guard, then pried my hand loose.

"Taking your act all the way to the hospital? Stealing your own sister's life-saving money. Have you got any humanity left?"

That was my money!

My life-saving money!

Just because I was dying, my life didn't matter?

Mia, in her hospital gown, said through her tears, "Clary, I'll work hard and pay it all back later. Please, just leave your little sister a way to live."

4: 4

In an instant, every eye turned toward me.

"They look so much alike, obviously sisters!"

"The older one's dressed head to toe in designer, that bag alone costs a fortune. What's the harm in helping her own sister?"

They pointed and murmured, as if I were some monster beyond redemption.

My head hurt too much to find a single word of defense.

In the end, it was Barnaby who couldn't stand it, calling security to break up the crowd.

He spoke with heavy sincerity.

"Clara, I'm asking you. Be kind to Mia."

Clara.

Mia.

Only now did I finally hear the difference between the two.

I looked at him, expecting tears, but my eyes had gone dry.

Seeing me stay still, Barnaby added, "Mia and I, there's really nothing between us."

I shook my head and pressed a finger to his chest.

"No. Your heart has moved."

His chest jerked sharply.

"Clara, you're beyond hope!"

Shame flared into anger, and Barnaby took Clara's hand and led her toward the inpatient wing.

The two of them walked close together, closer than I had ever clung to Barnaby.

Suddenly I laughed. "You're right. I really am beyond hope..."

When the doctor learned my condition, he frowned and warned me.

"You can keep taking the painkillers, but the most important thing is you must not fall. Otherwise..."

He didn't finish, but we both understood.

Walking out of the hospital, I found Barnaby waiting outside the front doors.

It was raining, and Barnaby tilted the umbrella toward my head.

"Mia was worried. She insisted on waiting for you."

But the moment Mia stepped out of the car, Barnaby rushed to help her.

The umbrella over my head was gone.

The rain soaked through, like needles stitching back and forth across my scalp.

Barnaby turned and pressed me. "Come on!"

Mia tugged guiltily at Barnaby's sleeve.

"Barnaby, I'm sorry, I booked the couple's seats again out of habit. You go with my sister. I'll just grab something at the noodle shop."

Out of habit.

Couple's seats.

Two words that should have cut me landed on frosted glass instead.

No sound when they struck, no shadow I could see.

Barnaby thought for exactly one second, then said to me, "Take a cab home yourself."

Home?

Where was my home?

"Wait, I don't remember where I live..."

Fear surged up, and on instinct I grabbed hold of both Barnaby and Mia.

Then Mia let out a scream. "Sister, why are you choking me?"

Barnaby shoved me away.

Caught off guard, I slipped and fell, my head striking the edge of the planter.

Blood streaked half my face red.

Cold sweat and rain pressed down on me in wave after wave, and the pain kept me from getting up.

And yet, like when I was a child, I brainwashed myself

It doesn't hurt.

It doesn't hurt...

Don't cry.

Crying only makes people hate you more...

Barnaby looked down at me coldly.

"The same trick you pulled as a kid, still using it now? You love hurting yourself for attention this much, are you sick in the head?"

Mia said softly, "Barnaby, I'm a little hungry."

Barnaby had been about to leave, but he glanced back at me uneasily, then shoved the umbrella into Mia's hands.

"Let me get her bandaged up first."

Those hands reached toward me, and I shrank back in terror.

"Who are you?"

When he saw the real revulsion in my eyes, Barnaby's disgust froze, and his shout burst out like a sudden clap of thunder.

"Clara, how long are you going to keep this act up?"

Just then my attending physician passed by on his way off shift, saw my head covered in blood, and was so alarmed he dropped his glass teacup and shattered it.

"I told you, you can't fall! Family, go to the ER and get someone, now!"