A dull pain resonated in Harry’s mind, reminding him of the fact that he had brain cancer. Even without undergoing detailed examinations, he could sense the severity of his illness.
This should have been a very sad and desperate situation, yet Harry laughed despite it.
His lips curled upwards, but his eyes reddened and filled with tears.
Evil truly reaps its own rewards. The notion of ancestral curses lasting for millennia was false. One reaps what they sow when they commit evil deeds.
“If it’s brain cancer, is there any hope for me?”
“It depends on how many years you can be saved for. In the early stages, it’s manageable, but Mr. Stewart, to be frank, your condition is at an advanced stage.”
“Does that mean it’s incurable?”
“Surgery is an option, but the risk factor is very high. There are very few surgeons globally, not to mention overseas – either retired or physically unfit. If it’s…” The chief physician hesitated before stopping mid-sentence.
Harry seized on this, as the unspoken words seemed like the last straw he clung to: “What is it? Tell me…”
He wanted to survive, even the slightest glimmer of hope would suffice. He wanted to repay and make amends to Hattie, to find a way to right all the wrongs he had done to her over the years.
The debt he owed Hattie was immense; if he died, how could he make amends to her?
The chief physician looked at Harry gripping his arm earnestly, and after a moment of hesitation, he said, “If Dr. Hattie could still wield a scalpel, she might be able to perform this operation for you. There was once a brain cancer patient whose surgery had a success rate of only three percent. Hattie performed it successfully – she is one of the best surgeons domestically, or more accurately, globally, and she is still very young.”
Hattie was incredibly understated; she had performed many high-risk surgeries, yet only a few within the medical community were aware of them.
If Hattie hadn’t been incarcerated, if those two years had been spent in the medical field… the miracles she and Micah could have worked in advanced cancer cases were incalculable.
But Harry had destroyed it all. Not only had he ruined Hattie’s future, but he had also shattered his only hope of survival.
With his mouth agape and his lips quivering, Harry tried to speak, but his throat tightened, his tongue attempted to move, and only a choked sob escaped.
The last straw he held onto became the one that broke him.
Harry, you are truly laughable.
The physician in front of him found this person despicable, pitiable, and laughable all at once.
He had never taken Hattie’s profession seriously, looked down upon her hands, and thought nothing of them; hence, after she was imprisoned, he rashly allowed the prison inmates to teach her a lesson.
Though he wasn’t the one who physically assaulted Hattie’s fingers, he was completely complicit in the matter. If not for his words, Hattie wouldn’t have been injured in prison, and Fiona wouldn’t have used his attitude to buy off those who bullied Hattie within the prison.
Although he wasn’t the direct perpetrator of Hattie’s hand injury, he was more despicable than those individuals.
“Mr. Stewart, when would you like to schedule the examination…”
“I don’t want to undergo the examination today. I will do it when I have the time.” At this moment, he wanted to evade; as if he never received the accurate examination report, he could continue deluding himself that he wasn’t sick.
Just like he refused to investigate what happened to Hattie in prison, continuously deceiving himself that he wasn’t responsible for her injuries.
The physician glanced at him, sighed heavily, and shook his head once again.
Head bowed, Harry felt a shadow looming over him when the physician stood before him; as the physician left, the shadow vanished, yet he felt increasingly burdened.
The footsteps grew fainter, eventually disappearing; the room was left empty, with him alone, as if even his breath echoed emptiness.
He retrieved the chain from his shirt pocket, feeling the weight of the gold locket on it, deeming himself utterly ludicrous.
How could a dying man hold onto a living one?
—
The hospital room was eerily quiet. Hattie could stay idle for a while, but she couldn’t remain idle all day; she needed something to do.
The nurse had prepared two books for her, ones she had read before, but she lost interest after flipping a few pages.
“How about watching some TV?”
Hattie nodded, and the nurse rummaged through a drawer to find the remote control. After turning on the TV, she handed the remote to Hattie to choose a channel she liked.
Hattie casually selected a comedy program to watch. She was traditional in some ways; she made it a point to watch the Spring Festival Gala every year, regardless of its quality.
This comedy sketch was clearly from the Spring Festival Gala, individually edited and aired. Familiar comedians in unfamiliar stories.
Hattie stared blankly at the TV, the program was hilarious, with even the dubbing carrying a comedic tone that elicited laughter from the audience. Even the nurse couldn’t help but smile at the funny parts.
The nurse noticed Hattie watching her and asked, “Miss Mason, what’s wrong?”
Hattie shook her head.
The nurse gestured to the TV, “Don’t you find this sketch funny?”
“It’s funny.” She acknowledged, but she couldn’t laugh. Hattie used to laugh a lot; even fake laughter could contain a touch of sincerity. However, she couldn’t bring herself to fake a smile now. Her face felt stiff, and she couldn’t muster the movements to express emotions.
Whenever Hattie laughed before, she was said to be adorable. With her doll-like face, her laughter always carried a hint of innocence, which was particularly uplifting in a place like a hospital, where farewells were common.
In the hospital room, only the sound of the TV filled the air, laughter echoing in every corner, as if the world had narrowed down to just her. No matter what she did, it felt like she couldn’t fill the void, a sense of emptiness from the soul, as if she could jump out the window to escape it.
Hattie didn’t know how to pass the time; the surgical site began to ache, and she closed her eyes, enduring the pain silently.
Thinking she had fallen asleep, the nurse quietly lowered the TV volume, the indistinct sound carrying a somewhat hypnotic effect.
Just as Hattie was about to sleep from the pain, footsteps approached the door.
Soon, a familiar voice sounded, “Hello, is Hattie in this room?”
The nurse stared at the refined and handsome man in disbelief, unable to articulate a response.
“Are you… Micah-Dr. Baker?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Oh my, you’re my idol. Miss Mason is here; she just fell asleep. Are you here to see her? Come in.” The hospital prohibited loud noises, so the nurse contained her excitement with sheer effort.