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

Dr. Wilson reluctantly handed over the CT scan, "Mr. Harrington, see for yourself. I stake my professional reputation on this."


But before he could finish, Sophie suddenly stumbled. Eames immediately dropped the scan to support her.


Eames anxiously felt Sophie's forehead, allowing her to lean on his shoulder while shooting me a triumphant glance.


Eames sighed, "It's my fault for wasting time here. The hallway's drafty; you must have caught a chill."


"Frostine, this is your last warning. Stay or go, I don't care."


"We have a bridal gown fitting at 4 PM. If you're not discharged, cancel it yourself! Don't come begging me to accompany you next time!"


With that, he ignored my increasingly pale face and left, arm around Sophie.


I watched helplessly as his leather shoes crushed the CT scan. My breath caught in my throat.


The doctor hesitated before picking up the scan. "Miss Frost, are you ready to be discharged?"


"With treatment, you might have six to nine months left. Without it, possibly less than a month."


"Okay, please make the arrangements."Meeting my death is inevitable, but before I go, shouldn't I wear a wedding dress at least once?


However, the moment I slipped on this custom-made gown, I instantly regretted it.


Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I looked like a ridiculous stand-in. To add insult to injury, the lining of the skirt was embroidered with Sophie's initials!


Eames pushed open the door and found me tracing those three letters, his expression momentarily distant.


"Try not to let it bother you. Grandma designed this for Sophie when she was still alive. I had to fulfill her dying wish, so we can't change the dress."


Suddenly, I was seized by a violent coughing fit, splattering fresh blood onto the snow-white wedding gown.


Witnessing this, he furrowed his brow and took half a step back, his eyes filled with disgust.


He grabbed the hem of the dress and commanded, "There's blood all over the skirt! Take it off right now!"


Hearing this, I froze in shock. "Take it off now?"


The fitting room was on the second floor, but Eames clearly had no intention of giving me time to stall. "For God's sake! If we wait any longer, how are we going to get it out?"


"I promised Sophie she could wear it once. You getting blood on it is such bad luck! What if it reminds her of that child she lost?"


As he finished speaking, the revulsion in Eames's eyes intensified. "What is it this time? A blood pack hidden in your mouth for dramatic effect? I must say, the color and smell are remarkably realistic!"I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, silent and wordless, remembering how it had been like this before.


The blood I spat into the sink, he said was paint.


When I fainted on the street and was taken to the hospital, he said I was trying to ruin his date with Sophie.


At that moment, the silence was broken by a cell phone ringing.


Eames glanced at the screen, his face suddenly changing, "Sophie has collapsed!"


"She's in fragile health, I can't just leave her alone at home!"


I had long since grown used to being left behind.


Against Sophie, I stood no chance anyway.


After returning home alone, I went straight to my vanity, taking out the wedding ring from my jewelry box. Sure enough, engraved on the inside were two letters - Sophie's nickname.


I used a small knife to slowly scrape away those strokes, as waves of pain blurred my vision.


So my hand was unsteady, and before long it was a bloody mess, looking particularly horrifying.


At two in the morning, Eames kicked open the door and burst in, his eyes bloodshot: "Are you happy now? Sophie almost died!"


Chapter 3