Chapter 2

The next day, Florence came with a photo album.

"Cyrus said that you've been bored here, so I brought something to keep you company." She pulled a chair next to my bed and opened the photo album.

The photos glided past my eyes, one by one.

Cyrus bought coffee for her daily. Her peaceful sleeping face. Two of them together in all sorts of poses.

My nails dug deeply into my palm. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing pain in my heart.

"Cyrus sure knows how to take a good photo, right?" Florence chuckled innocently. "He said that I pose much better than you. I'm more natural at it."

I snatched the photo album and threw it against the wall. It hit against the wall with a thud. The photo album broke, and the photos fell scattered on the floor.

"Get out," I said through gritted teeth.

Florence seemed to be frightened. Her eyes instantly reddened as she trembled.

"Gayle Lynch, how long are you planning to keep throwing a tantrum like this?" This was the first time Cyrus yelled at me with my full name. Veins popped up on his forehead.

"What did Florence do wrong? She was just trying to cheer you up. Can't you be more understanding?"

"Cheer me up?" I chuckled as tears suddenly fell. "Cyrus, can't you see? Can't you see how upset I am? Can't you see all the needles and holes on my hand? Can't you see that I have lost so much weight? Right now, all you see is her, right?"

I pointed at Florence with a trembling finger. "She's young, she's mischievous, she's kind. Then, what about me? Cyrus, I'm your wife. We have been married for five years. I'm the sick one here."

The muscles on Cyrus' face twitched a little. He avoided my burning gaze and said stiffly, "Don't overthink this. Everything that I am doing now is to save you. What would happen to you without Florence's bone marrow? Can't ýou try to understand the pressure I am under?"

He bent down and picked up a few photos, carefully dusting them off.

"Gayle." He said, "I'm begging you. Please stop making a fuss. Be more understanding. For the surgery. For your life. Be better to Florence."

"For my life," I repeated quietly. "Alright. I understand."

He sighed in relief. Looking at the back of my hand, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. I have been neglecting you. Keep holding on. The surgery will come soon."

I looked at him and said calmly, "I'm tired. I want to rest."

"Alright. Call the nurse for anything. Or you can call me."

They left and closed the door behind them. The room was finally silent.

I pressed the bell, and a nurse soon entered.

"Could you please get me a pen and paper?"

Halfway through writing, the door opened once more. Cyrus entered. He saw me hide the pen and paper. He asked with a frown, "What were you writing?"

"Nothing. I was bored, so I was just doodling."

He didn't suspect anything. He walked over ot the bed and tucked the blanket around. After a moment of silence, he said, "Gayle, there's a favor I would like to ask you."

My heart skipped a bit. I turned to look at him.

"Florence had been staying in the hotel all this time. She has been sleeping badly." He chose his words carefully, avoiding my eyes. "The apartment on West Wing Road happens to be empty. I thought of letting her stay there for now."

"Cyrus." My voice was hoarse. I said with disbelief, "The apartment was where we lived and got married."

"I know." He sounded a little impatient. "But this is a special circumstance. Florence is running around for you. We can't just care for her. Besides, it's only temporary."

After our wedding, we moved into a mansion. Once, I jokingly said that we could rent out the apartment.

Back then, he had gotten furious, saying that the place where we spent so many weekends, which was filled with our memories, must never be touched by anyone else.

"What if I said no?" I tightened my grip on the blanket.

He furrowed his brows and looked at me reprimandingly. "Gayle, how did you become so unreasonable? This matter is decided. Just rest. Don't think too much about it."

He got up and left.

The husband who had found me a lifeline in my dying hour, his heart had uncontrollably tilted toward the young girl holding that lifeline.

For a moment, I couldn't tell. Was she my lifeline or the final straw that would crush me?