Ninety Nine Voicemails From the Deathbed

Every time I texted my husband, all I got back was money.

This time, facing terminal brain cancer, I received a $50,000 deposit alert right before entering the operating room.

In his eyes, I was a gold digger. A woman who would do anything for a payout.

I took a bullet for him. I broke down over my terminal diagnosis and sent 99 voice messages. Yet all I ever got back were cold bank transfers.

I smiled bitterly and pulled the IV needle from my vein. Dominic, this time, I will give you your answer with my death. I will set you free.

The metal needle slid out of my vein, leaving behind a bright bead of blood.

A nurse rushed over and pressed down on the back of my hand. "What are you doing?"

I just smiled calmly at her. "Please cancel the surgery."

My attending doctor was quickly called over. He stared at me for a long time, not even trying to change my mind. Eventually, he reluctantly prescribed a bottle of strong painkillers and approved my discharge.

Walking down the corridor, I heard the nurse complaining in a hushed voice.

"Doctor, if she doesn't have the surgery, the cancer will shut down her organs. She won't survive a week."

Less than seven days left. It seemed I would be free very soon.

The doctor gave a sad smile. "You know? Her father died on this very floor years ago. The exact same disease."

I stopped in my tracks. "She's been coming here alone to endure this for over six months. I have never seen a family member by her side."

"Other women have husbands to take care of them. When she curls up in a ball and sweats from the pain, she has to suffer alone."

"I've known her for so long, yet I still don't know who her husband is. One night she called him. A woman answered."

The doctor's voice dropped. "Some people are just dealt a bad hand."

I clutched the prescription. A sharp pain shot through my chest.

Yes, this was probably my fate.

Just like when my father was diagnosed. Even when he convulsed in pain, he still held my hand tightly to comfort me.

"Don't be afraid, Hazel. Dad's been through it all."

In the end, he still died in my arms. He was nothing but skin and bones.

Just like when I asked Dominic for that three hundred thousand dollars on our wedding night to save my dad.

I still remember the shock in his eyes to this day. "Hazel, am I just an ATM to you?"

"My mother, my brothers, even Vivian said you were only after my last name. I didn't believe a single word of it."

"I withstood the pressure from the Commission. I turned down an arranged marriage. I risked everything to bring you into the family."

Dominic sharply cut me off. His dark eyes were bloodshot and filled with pain.

I shrank back from his volatile outburst. Tears stinging my eyes, I reached out in shock to hold his hand.

"It's not like that, Dominic. My father, he..."

"Tonight's our wedding night."

"Hazel, did you really have to trample on my feelings at a time like this?"

"Dominic, I swear I'll pay you back! If it bothers you, I won't ask for it. Just don't be mad, okay?"

He didn't say another word. He just pressed a no-limit black card into my hand. His thumb brushed against my ring finger before he let go.

"No limit. The PIN is your birthday."

His voice was terribly hoarse.

"We had a deal. Hazel, you were only in it for the money after all."

He turned and walked away. The door slammed so hard the chandelier shook.

That was supposed to be our sweetest night.

I sat numbly in the empty compound until three in the morning. Then Vivian walked in.

Dominic reeked of alcohol as he leaned on her. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned. It revealed a lipstick mark on his collar.

The lighting was dim, yet the mark looked exceptionally glaring.

Vivian looked up and smiled at me. She looked apologetic but innocent.

"Hazel, I'm taking care of Dominic tonight. Go back to your room and get some sleep."