I Ran Away From Home With My Best Friend

Jennifer Sullivan—my best friend—and I walked out of the hospital in silence.

When we arrived at the intersection, she took my hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“Don’t get emotional about it. If you’re sick, just get treated. We can take things slow.”

“Yeah. Everything will be okay.”

After we parted ways, my mind wandered off, and I nearly got run over by a car.

As I apologized repeatedly, the driver cursed me out and drove away.

The moment I got home, I saw that Adrian Howard, my husband, was in the kitchen cooking. Usually, he would be playing games at this time. By the looks of it, he knew that I was feeling down. At the very least, he had good judgment.

He occasionally checked on me, but he did it sneakily. He did not dare to look me in the eye.

From the call at the hospital, my mood plummeted.

I remembered reading once in a book that we are to never test a person’s humanity, because it would make us lose things we could never get back.

I still did it by sending Adrian my test results in the afternoon and asking him what I should do.

In the beginning, he was really anxious. “Are they accurate? How could you get cancer? You never get sick!”

I felt touched, because I thought that he was concerned about me. We had been married for eighteen years, and the spark of love was long gone. We were more like siblings at this point.

But what he said next made my blood run cold. “Did the doctor mention how much money you’ll need for treatment? What are the chances of you getting better?”

“Targeted therapy will cost 300,000 dollars. The chances of success are 20%.”

“300,000? And only 20%?”

I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. He was assessing the situation. But I knew that we had 300,000 dollars in our savings account. After all, we had saved that money together.

Was he actually assessing the value of my life?

“Look, we’re still far from being able to pay off our mortgage. If I’ll be the only one earning money from now on, we’ll lose the house. Our children also need money.” He made up his mind. “Why don’t you go for conservative treatment?”

Conservative treatment? He might as well be telling me to die.

Was this the final shred of dignity he was offering me?

I buried my face in a hot towel. The heat warmed up my face; my eyes burned so much that I started crying.

Irene Howard, my daughter, ran into the bathroom and announced loudly, “Mom, our school is doing a research and study tour! Get 20,000 ready for me!”

I took my daughter’s hand and stared into her eyes as I asked softly, “Irene, what if I tell you that I need the money for treatment?”

“What? You won’t let me go on the research and study tour? I didn’t go when Oliver went! You promised me that you’d let me go next time!” Irene became worked up. She started squirming and stomping.

I subconsciously let go of her hand and looked into the mirror.

I was forty-three years old, and my beauty was long gone, even though I had once been seen as a flower. At this moment, my life was not even worth 300,000 dollars.

I sacrificed so much for this family, but what did I get out of it?

I was not even worth 300,000 dollars!

“Stop throwing a tantrum! Your mother is sick! Could you be more mature?!” Adrian ran in and dragged Irene out.

Girls going through puberty had no care for their parents. Irene ran to her room in exasperation and slammed the door shut.

My phone rang, and I took a look at it. Oliver, who was a freshman in college, was calling.

“Mom, my friend—”

“Shut up!” I roared.

When he opened up a sentence like this, it was always followed by him asking for money to buy something, but that had nothing to do with me anymore.