ManyWriters

I was lying on the hospital bed, vomiting blood for the third time, while he was carefully asking Pure Love how many grams of brown sugar the traditional medicine needed.
The nurse urgently pressed for payment, and I had to call Eames nine times before he finally answered.
When Eames showed up, he impatiently slapped his bank card on the bedside table, "Sophie still needs to rest. Stop bothering me with these little tricks of pretending to be sick."
I curled up under the blanket, clutching my stomach cancer diagnosis, listening to him talk on the phone with Sophie, his voice so tender it could drip water.
"Don't be afraid, I'll be right there."
Ten minutes later, my phone displayed Sophie's latest social media post.
The girl was holding a caviar brown sugar pot, happily writing, "It feels so good to be cherished by someone."
My heart twisted like a knife, and I completely gave up hope.
I immediately crossed out the family member section on the death notice and, with tears in my eyes, signed my own name.

Cancer and Snowflakes

Eames stared at the pile of ashes on the ground, his pupils constricting violently.


The Frostine who used to make him hangover soup by hand when he worked overtime.


The Frostine who, despite being afraid of the dark, always waited for him at the office until late at night when he worked overtime.


Now she had become a handful of ash, trampled under Sophie's feet.


Eames couldn't take it anymore. "Get the hell out of here!"


Just then, an authoritative voice rang out, "Eames, that's enough!"


Mr. Harrington entered, leaning on his cane. He glanced at the mess on the floor and frowned, "How inauspicious! What are you all standing around for? Get a broom and clean this up immediately!"


Eames immediately lunged forward, cupping the ashes in his hands, trying to gather them up bit by bit, looking utterly ridiculous.


"No, nobody touch this! This is my wife, my Frostine!"


Chapter 6