Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The corridor outside the operating room was as cold as an ice cellar.

Song Wantang sat on the bench, the letter clutched in her hand. She hadn’t dared to open it yet.

Gu Yanxi handed her a cup of hot water, her voice soft. “You should read it. Director Yuan insisted on writing it. He said if the surgery fails, you at least deserve to know the truth.”

Song Wantang looked up at her. “The truth?”

Gu Yanxi’s eyes were rimmed with red, but she didn’t say anything more.

Finally, Song Wantang tore open the envelope.

Inside were three pages of stationery, filled with dense handwriting. The opening of the first page felt like a blunt knife, slowly carving open every misunderstanding she had harbored over the past six months.

Wantang:

If you are reading this, it means I have already entered the operating room, or worse, I no longer have the chance to tell you these things in person.

I didn’t miss our divorce appointment today on purpose. I originally thought I should at least see our final matter through to the end. But I suppose I overestimated myself.

Six months ago, I was diagnosed with late-stage dilated cardiomyopathy. Medication has reached its limit; the only path left is to wait for a transplant.

I kept it from you because I knew you wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t even bear to abandon a wounded stray cat, let alone me. But I couldn’t let you gamble on life and death with me again.

Gu Yanxi is not what you think she is. She is a doctor from the Transplant Coordination Team. That child, Xingxing, is the daughter of a potential donor. I arranged a place for them to stay not because of love, but because I owe my life to a stranger.

That isn’t the only thing I truly owe you an apology for.

Regarding Niaoniao-about why I didn’t answer your call that night and why I didn’t arrive until dawn-I have owed you three years, and I owe you a long-overdue truth.

If I can make it off the operating table, I will tell you myself.

If I can’t, please listen to the recording at the bottom of the file folder.

Also, Song Wantang, I’m sorry.

Not because I’m sick, and not because I wanted a divorce.

But because I clearly still love you, yet I presumed to make the choice for you.

The paper trembled slightly in her hands.

Tucked behind the last page was a small silver longevity lock. It was the one they had bought for Niaoniao back then; the child never had the chance to wear it.

Song Wantang’s vision blurred. Her fingertips pressed so hard they nearly tore through the paper.

She had always thought the most painful part of these last six months was the betrayal.

It wasn’t until this moment that she realized what was more painful: the person she had tried so hard to hate might have been using the most foolish method possible to endure a collapse she knew nothing about.

The door to the operating room suddenly swung open, and a nurse rushed out.

“Who is Yuan Shiyu’s family? The patient is in ventricular fibrillation and needs to be placed on ECMO immediately. We need a signature now.”

Song Wantang stood up abruptly.

“I’ll sign.”