Chapter 4

I didn’t go back to the office. I went straight to the restroom instead.

The moment I pushed open the stall door, I started throwing up violently.

They say the stomach is the organ of emotion. Turns out it’s true.

I braced myself against the wall to stand, then called the hospital. The line had barely connected when the voice on the other end spoke.

“Ms. Prescott, why haven’t you come in for your follow-up? Your condition really can’t wait any longer.”

“Dr. Reed, I heard your hospital started a body donation program. Is that right?”

The other end went blank, and it was a long while before he spoke. “What... what do you mean by that?”

I looked up at the faint light through the window overhead and let out a soft laugh. “I don’t want treatment anymore.”

“And there’s no treating it anyway, is there? What little time I have left, I want to keep for myself.”

The other end let out a long sigh, settled on a time for me to sign the donation agreement, and then hung up.

At noon, Adrian asked me to lunch at a restaurant nearby.

He looked at me without a word, and only after a long while did he speak.

“Are you still angry about me calling you out in front of everyone earlier?”

I picked up a piece of meat, my tone distant. “Mr. Blackwood, you’re reading too much into it.”

Hearing that title, his brow furrowed even deeper.

“Claire, me and Vivian, it’s really not what you think.”

I ignored him and just calmly took out my phone and kept scrolling.

Adrian couldn’t stand my coldness any longer, and snatched the phone right out of my hand.

The moment he saw what was on the screen, he froze.

“You’re looking at plane tickets?”

I nodded.

On the screen sat a photo of hot air balloons in Turkey, and below it, a flight I’d just looked up.

Adrian frowned.

“Why the sudden urge to go somewhere so far away?”

“I just want to see it.”

I took my phone back and swiped down another page.

“I also want to go to Tanzania. See the great migration once.”

Adrian was quiet for a few seconds.

“Claire, you know how busy I’ve been lately.”

“The company’s seventh-anniversary dinner is almost here, Vivian just moved to the president’s office, and there’s a lot she hasn’t gotten the hang of yet.”

I looked up at him.

“So you don’t have time to go with me. Right?”

He seemed caught by the question, and after a moment, he softened his tone.

“It’s not that I won’t go with you. These places are just too far. It’s at least ten days round trip.”

“Your health isn’t good, and with all that traveling, I’d just worry. ”

I nodded, then looked down and closed the page, not pressing him, not looking at him again.

Adrian watched me, his brow slowly knitting, and after a moment, he suddenly spoke up.

“Next weekend, then.”

Adrian took out his phone and scrolled through his schedule.

“Turkey and Tanzania can wait for later.”

“This time we’ll start with St. Mira Island. Two-hour flight, back Sunday night.”

He looked at me, his tone almost like a concession. “That works, doesn’t it?”

His voice was light, as if there would be countless trips like this.

But I wasn’t even sure I’d have next month.

I didn’t correct his mistaken assumption. I just watched quietly as he had his secretary book two tickets.

That night, back home, I didn’t look up any travel guides for St. Mira Island. I booked a ticket to Istanbul instead.

I didn’t know which day I would die, so I had to go to the places I most wanted to see first.

Over the next few days, I started handing off my work, and my coworkers began to sense something was wrong.

But no one dared to ask, and Adrian was busy training his new hire, Vivian, with no attention to spare for me.

Soon it was Friday night. I was packing when Adrian suddenly called.

“Claire, I’ve got a business trip this weekend. Your ticket’s on the table. Go clear your head on your own.”

I looked at the ticket on the table and gave a soft answer.

Adrian didn’t seem to expect me to be so calm, and he added one more thing.

“When I’m back, I’ll take a long vacation and go to Turkey with you.”

After I hung up, I suddenly felt relieved.

Thank goodness, this time, I hadn’t waited for him again.

That night, I organized all my handoff material into documents and sent them to my coworkers.

Then I printed out my resignation letter and left it on the desk.

Early the next morning, I took my suitcase and headed to the airport.

Before security, I saw Adrian and Vivian.

Vivian wore a pale, floor-length dress, her arm looped through Adrian’s.

Adrian was pushing her luggage for her, his head bent, saying something to her I couldn’t hear, and she laughed until her eyes crinkled.

I watched for a while, then turned and walked toward the other gate.

More than ten hours later, I got into the car to Cappadocia.

When the balloons rose, the sun had just broken over the horizon, and the whole sky was washed in pale gold.

Right then my phone buzzed with a new post from Vivian.

[A weekend trip as a reward from the boss. So happy.]

In the photo, she sat by the sea, and the corner of the frame caught Adrian’s watch.

That was the watch I’d bought him with nearly all my savings, back when the company first went public.

I looked at it for a few seconds and was about to close it when a tourist beside me suddenly smiled and laid a hand over my phone.

He pointed at the sunrise in the distance.

“Miss, this is a moment to enjoy the view.”

I paused.

He was right. This was no time to waste my emotions on things like that.

I turned off my phone and looked up into the distance. The balloons climbed higher and higher, and the wind rushed past my ears.

I don’t know if it was because the view was too beautiful, or because my life was nearing its end, but my tears rolled down.

After the balloon landed, the guide invited me to take a photo, and I’d just started to speak.

A sudden metallic sweetness surged up my throat, and the next second, blood spilled out between my fingers.

Everything around me erupted into chaos.

“Miss!”

Two days later, Adrian came home to a house drowned in darkness, and he frowned and called my name a few times.

Not a single answer came back.

That was when the resignation letter on the desk caught his eye, and in that moment, he laughed in anger.

Adrian took out his phone and texted me, impatient.

[So I didn’t go on a trip with you. Is that worth throwing a fit and quitting over?]

[Claire, you’re not a child anymore.]

After sending the texts, he tossed the phone aside in irritation and threw the resignation letter into the trash.

Right then, a thin sheet of paper drifted out of the letter.

At the very top, one line stood out in stark print.

Late-stage stomach cancer.