Hattie nearly burst out laughing at the sudden and perfectly timed ringtone of the phone.
“So, now that your threats didn’t work, are you resorting to playing the victim? Harry, you’ve really stooped low.”
Harry hadn’t expected that his “I’m dying soon” would elicit Hattie’s “you’ve stooped low.”
His heart suddenly felt empty, as if a force was pulling him down relentlessly. His head throbbed even more, and he staggered back, swaying.
Sitting in her wheelchair, though much shorter than Harry, Hattie’s posture-hands resting on the wheelchair handles, chin slightly raised-matched his in intensity.
She raised an eyebrow. “Harry, I am a doctor, do you think I know nothing?”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and only after a moment did he fully grasp the weight of Hattie’s words.
Indeed, how could he have forgotten?
Hattie had performed surgeries on brain cancer patients. How could she not be aware of the symptoms and his condition?
Even if she was not fully aware, seeing Harry’s daily suffering from headaches, bleeding, and pallor should have alerted her to his illness.
She knew, but she just didn’t care. In the three to four months they had been living together since her return, she had coldly observed his daily struggles, watching him deteriorate.
She knew he was likely dying from the disease, yet she still planned to use the child in her womb to punish him.
Hattie remained silent, but her expression seemed to convey three words clearly: “you deserve it.”
“Hattie, I told you about my cancer not to seek your sympathy or keep you by my side through pity. I simply wanted to see you happy. I’ve tasted retribution,” Harry said bitterly. His mask muffled his heavy breathing, and the hot breath misted his eyes, burning. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, he tasted a metallic sweetness in his mouth.
He was grateful he wore a mask, as coughing blood in front of Hattie would have been an unsightly sight.
“I am not kind, so I hope that karma comes around. I am not malevolent, so you don’t need to inform me of your turn. Harry, never see me again,” Hattie said indifferently, giving him a cold glance before turning her wheelchair.
When did she become so detached? Hattie could offer warmth to a stranger but wouldn’t spare a single extra look for him.
As Harry watched Hattie’s retreating figure, his mind wandered back to the past, reminiscing about the old Hattie.
She had cared for him once, even as he ignored the signs of his illness. Believing his frequent headaches were merely from stress, fatigue, or trivial matters, he sought external reasons instead of looking within himself.
Back then, Hattie would complain about him but still look after him, preparing herbal remedies, giving massages, and soothing his pains.
Once, as she massaged his temples, she remarked, “Harry, how can someone like you, who neglects himself, care for others? You’re better off dead.”
Harry had always been accused of selfishness and self-interest, but only Hattie had pointed out his inability to even love himself.
Harry didn’t want to hear Hattie say “never see me again.” He wanted to see her every day, even if it meant only catching a glimpse on his deathbed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but a dying man couldn’t hold onto the living. Hattie had a long life ahead, and he had already ruined much of it. He couldn’t destroy it all, so he had to let her go, for her sake and his own.
Harry could have fought tooth and nail, sacrificing everything to keep Hattie, but he found himself unable to resort to such means. He was ensnared, unable to use any tactics to keep her by his side.
To him, Hattie was his antidote, the sun after a storm, the umbrella in the rain, the warm hearth in winter. Now he had lost his antidote, discarded the umbrella, shattered the hearth, and watched the last glimmer of sunlight disappear.
Harry could only stand there blankly as Hattie left. His icy hands tucked into his pockets, trying to warm them, but they trembled relentlessly. He felt the chain in his pocket, took it out, and listened to its crisp sound as it fell to the ground.
Lost in his thoughts, Harry struggled to pick up the chain. He couldn’t help but wonder, if the Stewart family hadn’t gone bankrupt or if he had refused Fiona’s help, would he and Hattie have ended up differently?
Micah approached to take Hattie away as she turned to leave.
Upon hearing a sound behind her, Hattie glanced back and saw Harry holding a gold chain, a familiar sight that stirred something within her.
“Shall we go?” Micah interrupted her thoughts.
“Let’s go. You can have your pig bone catfish soup when we get back.”
The two of them acted as if nothing had happened, as if Harry had never appeared. Micah pushed the wheelchair and took Hattie away.
Micah didn’t ask what happened between her and Harry. As he helped her into the car, it was Hattie who spoke first.
“Harry told me he has brain cancer.”
Pausing while fastening her seatbelt, Micah’s movements faltered upon hearing her words. He then nonchalantly fastened her seatbelt.
Glancing at Hattie’s hand, Micah considered how Harry indirectly ruined her chances as a surgeon. Perhaps punishing him with brain cancer was too lenient.
“Did he tell you that to keep you by his side? What do you think?” Micah’s voice quivered as he asked, unsure of what he wanted to hear from Hattie.
“I am neither kind nor foolish. How could I possibly return to his side because of this? If I were willing, I wouldn’t strip down and play the victim in front of the media. Micah, I am wicked. I lied to everyone today, even my imprisonment was voluntary. I wanted to break free from him. I hated him but couldn’t kill him. I thought I could still be the same Hattie after my release, but the past is the past. I can never go back.”
Before entering prison, Hattie had bolstered herself with self-encouragement, believing she was strong enough to endure any hardship. She had thought she didn’t need the understanding of internet strangers or care for those who didn’t believe in her, as long as those she valued did. She had Micah, the watching director, Aoife…
Yet, once inside, she realized her inner strength was worth nothing. She was insignificant, like dust, easily scattered by the wind.
Feeling a warmth on her hand, Hattie looked down to see Micah holding it.
“To me, you are still you,” he said.