Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I returned to the car and cranked the air conditioning to its lowest setting, yet I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The diary spanned from 2016 to 2023. The first half was filled with fragmented bits of affection, but the latter half grew increasingly heavy. She stopped writing about what I wore or said that day; instead, she began recording dates, names of medications, and the smell of disinfectant in hospital corridors.

“April 18, 2022.

The doctor said the results aren’t good and that I need to be hospitalized as soon as possible.

The first thought that popped into my head wasn’t whether I was going to die, but that Shen Du has a project roadshow these next few days and I can’t disturb him. It’s strange-even at a time like this, I’m still wondering if he’ll find me annoying.”

“May 2, 2022.

First round of chemotherapy today. I was vomiting so hard I couldn’t stand when I got back. My hair is starting to fall out; the nurse told me to be mentally prepared. When I looked in the mirror, I thought to myself: it’s a good thing he’s been busy lately and can’t see me.”

“May 19, 2022.

He asked why I haven’t been coming to the office much. I told him work was busy. He believed me. Actually, this is for the best; he never did like trouble.”

I flipped through the pages, my back drenched in a cold sweat.

All those days I thought she was busy, she was actually in the hospital.

All those times she said we’d meet another day, she had actually just finished an injection and could barely walk straight.

I remembered a time we ran into each other at the convenience store downstairs. She was wearing a hat, her face deathly pale, carrying a bag of medicine. I even smiled and asked her, “Still haven’t shaken that cold?”

She nodded and said, “It’s almost better.”

And I actually believed her.

I didn’t even reach out to take the bag of medicine from her hand.

Tucked inside the diary was a chemotherapy payment slip, its edges neatly folded. The payment date was the exact same day I took Wen Muning to the beach for her birthday.

That night, I had posted photos of fireworks and red wine on my social media feed. Wen Muning was leaning against my shoulder, and a crowd of people were cheering in the comments.

Lin Wan had liked that post.

At the time, I even thought she had finally moved on.

But her diary entry read:

“Finished my fourth round of chemo alone today. While waiting in line, I saw the photo of him and his new girlfriend.

She’s very beautiful. Standing next to him, they look like a perfect match.

I’m actually a little sad.

But after the sadness passed, I still felt that… well, being able to see from afar that he’s doing well is a good thing too.”

I lowered my head and buried my face against the steering wheel, my chest throbbing with sharp, rhythmic stabs of pain.

How can a person be such a bastard?

One person gives you her blessings while dying all alone.

And you didn’t even know she was sick.