Who Wrote The Fake Cancer Storyline For The Songwriter?

I once made a promise to the top actress in the industry. If I publicly proposed to her 99 times on livestreams, she would, on the hundredth, officially launch our relationship. But when the hundredth proposal came, she was on a private yacht kissing a new rising actor. Her smile had been so sweet and carefree. I became a complete joke. Feeling guilty, she texted me: [I will say yes on your 101st proposal.] She entered my livestream, looking like a goddess had descended to earth. As she looked on, I lit all one hundred love letters I had ever written for her, as well as the stomach cancer diagnosis I had hidden inside. “There will be no 101st time, Miss Ford.”

On the day I'm diagnosed with cancer, my fiance, Alessio Albini, announces his upcoming wedding with his childhood sweetheart, Camelia Germani, in public. Alessio tells me apologetically, "Estella, Camelia is pregnant. Her child mustn't be exposed to the public. That's why I need to grant her a proper wedding." After that, he consoles me patiently. "Once Camelia gives birth to her baby, I'll divorce her right away. Don't worry, Estella. You're the only woman I love." I suppress my grief as I pass Alessio my cancer diagnosis report. "Alessio, I'm dying. I want to marry you before it's time for me to leave this world…" But Alessio rips the report into shreds angrily. Disappointment is written all over his eyes. "I can't believe you actually faked having cancer just to ruin my and Camelia's wedding! You disappoint me, Estella!" With tears streaming down my cheeks, I try to explain myself to Alessio, only to get kicked out of his estate. "Anyway, Camelia will go into labor soon. Don't go triggering her now. Once her baby is born, you may return to the estate." What Alessio doesn't know is that I'm incapable of waiting for Camelia to give birth. After he's done dealing with Camelia and her baby, he starts looking for me all over the world. Unfortunately, I've already left him permanently.

After recovering from breast cancer, my fiancé started making excuses to stay out all night. On my birthday, I finally tracked him down on a yacht where he was joking with his friends. "I figured once she died, the engagement would be off the table. Who knew she'd be so hard to die.” "But I've got a brilliant plan—I'll fake my death at the wedding. We can livestream it and watch how this woman who worships me to the core breaks down in tears." I couldn't help but smile to myself. If Travis Luther could play dead, so could I. In the end, he was the one who broke down sobbing, begging me not to walk away.

After my wife, Simone Inman, gets into a car accident, I examine her as her doctor and discover that she has a malignant brain tumor. Afraid that she will be devastated, I plan to tell her later. So, I hide the medical report in my bag. But when she happens to see it, she mistakenly thinks it is my diagnosis instead. One day, when I arrive at her office, I overhear her talking to her best friend, Mindy Fox. She says, "My husband has no talent, no looks, only money. And now, he even has a tumor in his brain… If Shawn hadn't gone abroad back then, I would never have married him. I'm so unlucky! But good thing I never agreed to have children with him. Once he dies, all his money will be mine." Later on, she claims she has amnesia after the car accident and cannot remember who I am. She even treats her male secretary, Shawn Erskine, as her husband and blatantly brings him into our home. I smile scathingly and say, "Let's get a divorce, Simone."

To help my husband, Henry Carter, pay off a million-dollar debt, I clean windows and scrub toilets in an office building on Valentine's Day just for the triple pay. After I'm done with the windows, I am about to transfer the last 50 thousand dollars of the debt when a post suddenly pops up on my phone. The title of the post is, "What is something you see in real life that makes you feel sorry for someone, even if they are your enemy?" One of the top comments says, "The person I hate the most is my boyfriend's wife. My boyfriend pretends to be poor to spend money on me and cheats his wife out of over a million. That woman works day and night at a cleaning company just to make money for me! "This has gone on for eight years. That woman has been scrubbing toilets for eight years! Even if she is my enemy, I feel sorry for her." I freeze, and my fingers tremble uncontrollably. No way. It has to be a coincidence. I stare at those words, stunned and unable to recover from the shock. Then, a new comment appears, "Now, my boyfriend plans to fake an illness by telling his wife that he has cancer. He's going to trick her into giving him money to buy me a car." At that exact moment, Henry sends me a message. The instant I open it, I feel my heart skip a beat. It reads, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sick—I have cancer. The doctor says we need to prepare 80 thousand dollars for treatment. I hate myself for this. Why am I even alive? I'm just dragging you down with me." The words "late-stage liver cancer" in the attached diagnosis report are painful to look at. I think in dismay, "Henry, you do not need to pretend to be sick. You are indeed in the late stage of cancer."

In the seventh year of singing on the streets for a living, I finally save enough money for my boyfriend, Charlie Bond, to pay for our wedding and marry me. Late at night, a young woman suddenly walks up to me and requests a song just as I'm about to pack up. She says, "I'm in a bad mood. Just sing a couple of songs for me." When she notices my disabled leg, she transfers 5,000 dollars to me right away. She adds, "I'm sorry for bothering you when it's already so late. I'm just really upset. Please take pity on me and keep me company for a while." Looking at the payment notification, I nod. With this money, Charlie won't have to struggle so much when it comes to paying rent. He won't need to deliver food in the middle of rainstorms just to make ends meet. The young woman begins pouring her heart out to me. "My husband and I have been married for five years. Today, I found out that I'm pregnant. I wanted to share the good news with him, but then I found a diamond ring in his pocket! "No matter how much I question him, he refuses to say anything. I got so angry at him that I ran out of my home. Do you think he's cheating on me?" I hesitate and am just about to comfort her when her phone suddenly rings. A man's voice comes through the speaker. It sounds helpless yet affectionate. He says, "You're so silly. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. The ring is a custom-made gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you found it before I could give it to you. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." The moment I hear that familiar voice, a chill runs down my spine. The name displayed on her phone is the exact same name as my boyfriend's—Charlie Bond.