Five Years And A Lifetime Chapter 06
On the day Arthur’s mother, Stacey Bradley, came to see me, I’d just stepped out of the hospital.
She was remarkably direct. “Catherine, I own this hospital.”
Cold sweat broke out across my palms, and my mind went completely blank. Arthur had never mentioned to me which hospital his mother owned.
My recent follow-up report had been issued by this very hospital. It stated clearly that I was suffering from late-stage stomach cancer, with severe signs of metastasis.
“Does Artie know about this?” she asked. I shook my head, taking several moments before forcing out a few words. “Mrs. Bradley, I’m so sorry… I know this is unfair to him…”
My voice began to tremble as I spoke, my hands clenching tightly into fists at my sides. “I’ll leave him.”
Stacey let out a soft sigh, reaching over to gently pat the back of my hand. “Silly girl, I’m worried about you.”
I looked up at her in shock. She offered a warm smile, gentle crinkles forming around her eyes. “I knew he had feelings for you back in high school. He’s a grown man now. I won’t stop him from dating the girl he likes.”
She turned her gaze toward the window, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “However, being completely honest is better for both of you. When you came in for your checkup, I personally asked the doctor to issue that report to you. Given your condition, it would be best for you to be hospitalized as soon as possible.”
I nodded quietly. “I understand.”
She handed me a business card. “This is my personal number. If you need any help, call me anytime.”
I took the card, my fingertips feeling icy cold. After stepping out of the cafe, I stood by the roadside, letting the chill wind numb my face for a long time. Then, I sent a message to Monica, attaching a photo of my medical diagnosis.
Monica sent back a voice message: “Cathy, today isn’t April Fool’s Day, so please don’t joke about something like this.”
After a long pause, she sent another audio message, her voice choked with tears. “Cathy, just stay at home and wait for me. I’m coming right now.”
As the days went by, my hospital visits became increasingly frequent, and my hair began falling out in alarming clumps. I was taking higher doses of medication and spent most of my days overwhelmed by exhaustion.
Arthur finally noticed that something was terribly wrong.
That afternoon, he wrapped up work early. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, I was hunched over the toilet, retching helplessly. As he pushed the bathroom door open, the smoothie in his hand slipped from his grip, splattering across the floor.
He rushed over, dropping to his knees to support me. “Catherine?”
I wiped the corner of my mouth and forced a smile up at him. “I think I just ate something bad.”
He offered no reply. Instead, he lifted me gently into his arms, carried me back to bed, and immediately began searching through my bag. I struggled to stop him, but I was far too weak. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he pulled out the bottle of pills.
He unscrewed the cap, glanced inside, and then read the label on the bottle. Then, he froze.
Lying on the bed, I watched his stiffened back and called out softly, “Arthur.”
He didn’t turn around.
“Arthur, turn around and look at me.” He turned around very slowly, his eyes rimmed with red. He gripped the pill bottle tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning stark white. “What is this?”
“Just stomach medicine,” I murmured.
“You’re lying to me.”
He walked over, sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and reached for my phone. I watched him open the photo gallery and scroll directly to the screenshot of my medical diagnosis. His thumb lingered over the screen, staying motionless for what felt like an eternity.
“Catherine,” he choked out, his voice trembling violently. “Please tell me this is a sick joke, okay?”
I turned my face away from him, unable to meet his eyes. “Arthur, I’m so sorry.”
Six months ago, I was diagnosed with advanced terminal stomach cancer. There was no cure for me.
I’d asked the doctor how much time I’d left. He told me two years if everything went well. Now, I only had a year and a half remaining.
Arthur set the phone down, reached out, and pulled me fiercely into his arms. His shoulders shook uncontrollably.
“When did you find out?” he asked.
“Before we ran into each other again.”
“So that day you were at the hospital…”
“I was there for a follow-up exam.”
He squeezed me even tighter, his voice breaking into pieces. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Outside the window, snow continued to fall silently, while the heater hummed softly in the background. I felt hot tears soaking into my hair. I looked down at his hands, where blue veins stood out against his skin; my tears suddenly dried up. “Arthur… I was terrified to tell you.”
That night, Arthur held me the entire time. “Tomorrow, I’m going to cancel all my filming projects. Where do you want to go? Shall we go see the snow? Or maybe the ocean…
“No, wait! Catherine, we need to get married first!”
I tried everything to dissuade him, but Arthur remained stubbornly persistent, insisting on taking me to register our marriage.
“Catherine, you have to give me an official place in your life!” Looking deep into his fierce, stubborn eyes, I finally yielded.
While taking the photo for our license, the photographer teased him playfully, “Young lady, your boyfriend is so thrilled. Look at him; his eyes are completely red.”
I gently wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye and chuckled, “How old are you really? You’re acting just like a little boy.”
He examined the marriage certificate over and over again before placing it carefully into his jacket’s inner pocket. He tapped it reassuringly and said, “Catherine, you’re mine now.”
I nodded tenderly. “Yes.”
In my heart, I longed to tell him, “Arthur, you’re mine now, too.”
On the evening of our marriage registration, he posted another tweet. This time, the message was just a single line. “We are married.”
The comment section exploded instantly, but I didn’t read a single reply this time. I leaned against his shoulder as pain rippled through my stomach, but I bit my lip and kept quiet.
He leaned down to press a tender kiss onto my forehead. “Are you tired, darling? Shall we go home?”
“Let’s go home.”
