On our anniversary night, I accidentally grabbed Julian's Apple Watch to charge. The screen lit up, revealing a heart rate peak of 158.

The location was Serena Vance's room at Southside Medical Center.

Serena. His first love.

And that day, was the day I found out I had cancer.

The same day, his pulse was racing in her room!

Julian walked out of the bathroom, snatched the watch, and slid it onto his wrist, his expression annoyed.

"Checking up on me again? How many times have I told you not to touch my things?"

The words died in my throat. Ten years living together, and I wasn't even his girlfriend.

Then his expression softened. He pulled a ring box from his pocket. "Just a little longer. We'll get engaged next month."

Always "next month," I gave a bitter smile.

But this time, I don't think I'll live to see your "next month."


He dropped the ring box onto the bed. "What? Even this isn't good enough for you now?"

Ten years ago, Julian was a broke medical student. I funded his PhD and his personal lab with the inheritance my parents left after they died of cancer.

I was the one who gave up a full scholarship to Stanford, trading a brilliant future in biochemistry to become his unseen assistant.

Over a decade, he rose from a man whose tuition I worked three jobs to pay into a top surgeon hailed as a "Rising Star."

And I sacrificed it all-my family's legacy, my future, my very life.

He'd forgotten. He chose to specialize in targeted cancer therapy because he vowed to conquer it for me. He promised I'd never have to be afraid.

The ultimate irony? I am now the cancer he's trying to conquer.

Seeing me still stunned, the curve of Julian's lips completely hardened.

"Clara, I'm tired from work. I don't have the energy for your mind games."

His voice held its usual dismissive coldness. He didn't even look at me.

"I have an early flight to Zurich for the summit tomorrow."

I gave a noncommittal hum.

I didn't get up to pack his luggage as I always did.

Julian seemed taken aback by my uncharacteristic calm. He stared at me for a few seconds, then ultimately said nothing and turned into his study.

The door closed, separating two worlds.

I looked down at the diagnosis report, still warm and crumpled in my hand.

Stage IV Lung Adenocarcinoma.

Bone and brain metastasis.

The doctor had said that with aggressive treatment, I might have six months.

Without it, perhaps less than two.

Curled up on the sofa, my body felt cold, as if I'd fallen into an ice cave.

Julian didn't emerge from his study until late at night. He didn didn't even look at me, heading straight to the bedroom.

That night, we lay back to back, separated by an unbridgeable galaxy.

The next morning, he dragged his suitcase, ready to leave.

Before stepping out, he stood in the doorway, turned, and squeezed my cheek.

"Keep the ring safe, don't lose it."

"Give me a smile when I get back, okay?"

I looked at him, at his expensive, perfectly tailored suit-the one I'd helped him pick out last week.

I spoke softly, "Julian."

"Hm?" He sounded a little impatient, glancing down at his watch.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

I wanted to ask him if I was dying, could he please not leave.

But I knew the answer.

He'd just think I was pulling another stunt for attention.

"Never mind, it's nothing."

Julian frowned, seemingly displeased by my hesitation. He pulled open the door without another look at me.

After the loud slam of the door, the whole world fell silent.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it couldn't bring a speck of warmth into my heart.

I took out my phone and opened Dr. Miller's SnapChat.

The interface was still on yesterday's chat.

"Two paths. One is palliative care, slowly fading away amidst endless cancer pain and breathing difficulties."

"The other... go do the things you always wanted to do but never did."

My fingers trembled as I typed, one word at a time.