If Only We Could Love Again

After Duncan Stewart yelled at me, the room fell silent for a long time.

It was long enough for Duncan to finish gnawing that half of a cold, hardened slice of bread.

He brought me, Wendy Joseph, a bowl of hot oatmeal and murmured an apology.

"I'm sorry, Wendy. I'm just so tired."

I didn't have the courage to look at him, so I could only close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.

Just before dawn, Katie Lindt sat up from the sofa.

She put a straw into a carton of soy milk and handed it to me.

"Wendy, here. It's low-sugar.

"You shouldn't have anything too sweet right now."

Her movements were still as practiced as ever, but when I lowered my gaze and saw the bruises around her wrist, my fingers still trembled.

The soy milk was sweet enough, yet it tasted bitter enough to make my throat tightened.

Duncan was opening the oatmeal container.

His hands had once been beautiful and almost looked like a work of art. They were perfect for playing the piano.

He always said that once I recovered, he would personally play a song for me at our wedding.

But now, even opening a disposable food container seemed difficult for those hands.

His palms were covered in calluses that repeatedly cracked open and scabbed over.

When Duncan handed me the oatmeal, he instinctively blew on it.

But the very next second, as if lost in a daze, he brought the spoon to Katie's lips.

The air felt tense.

Katie's face turned pale.

Duncan suddenly came to his senses. His wrist trembled as the oatmeal nearly spilled.

He moved the spoon back in front of me.

I took it and lowered my head for a sip.

The oatmeal was scalding and burned the tip of my tongue, but I didn't pull away.

Compared to the things Duncan had said last night, this little burn was nothing.

The three of us sat around the small table while we had our breakfast.

It was just like what we did so many times before.

The only difference was that our breakfasts used to be filled with laughter.

Katie would try to steal the omelette from Duncan's plate, and he would coldly swat her fork away.

I would sit between them and laugh until I coughed.

Katie would immediately berate Duncan.

"Stop making her laugh! You know what condition she's in!"

Back then, I always thought I was the luckiest person in the world.

My best friend was sitting across from me, and the person I loved most was beside me.

They protected me from both sides and made sure nobody could hurt me.

Yet now, it was still the same table, and there were still the three of us.

Even so, Katie didn't dare look at Duncan.

Duncan avoided looking at her too.

Their eyes would inevitably meet by accident.

They would then quickly look away while appearing guilty and flustered.

Suddenly, my throat felt tight.

It wasn't because of my illness.

It was because I finally saw the truth.

It wasn't that they didn't love me.

They had simply fallen in love with each other too.

That love grew out of the daily grind of buying my medicine, scraping cash together, and simply keeping me alive.

I didn't even feel entitled to blame them.

A sudden, metallic sweetness rose in my throat.

I bit down hard on my lip and barely managed not to cough in front of them.

After breakfast, Katie stood up to clear away the containers.

When she bent over, a fresh red mark showed beneath her collarbone.

Duncan saw it, and his expression changed instantly.

He instinctively took a step forward, but he then forced himself to stop.

I pretended not to notice and lowered my head before scrolling through my phone.

On the screen was the treatment refusal agreement I had signed last night.

Once I stopped taking my medication, my body wouldn't last more than three days.

My bones often throbbed with this deep, agonizing ache that made me curl up into a ball.