Part 2My Cancer Diagnosis, His Other Woman

Hearing my rebuttal, Ethan got even angrier. "You mess up and won't even admit it. I never knew you were such a deceitful and malicious woman!"

Deceitful?

Malicious?

He wouldn't even listen to a word of my explanation, unconditionally believing Jessica's side of the story.

My emotions were on the verge of collapse. Gripping my phone, I asked him, "Ethan, whose husband are you, anyway?"

Forcing back the churning sickness in my heart, I let out a cold laugh, but the tears wouldn't stop falling. "Anyone who didn't know better would think you were Jessica's husband."

"What nonsense are you spouting! How can your mind be so filthy and disgusting?" Ethan snapped, and Jessica immediately chimed in, "I'm sorry, Sarah. There's really nothing between Eth and me. If you mind, I'll..."

Ethan cut her off, his voice full of concern, "Stop crying. This isn't your fault at all."

"Sarah, it's bad enough you're slandering me, but now you're dragging Jessica through the mud too. You need to apologize to her immediately!"

Clutching my abdomen, where the throbbing pain made it hard to breathe, I forced out the words, "I won't apologize, Ethan."

The next second, I finally couldn't hold on anymore and slumped to the ground, completely drained.

The doctor said that in my condition, chemotherapy was my best chance for survival.

But I knew that chemotherapy meant spending my remaining time in the hospital.

I didn't want to spend my days in a hospital room reeking of antiseptic, every moment feeling like a death sentence being read out.

It was the next day when I got home. The house was just as I’d left it. Ethan hadn’t come back.

This wasn't the first time he'd stayed over at Jessica's.

I let out a bitter, small laugh.

Laughing at myself for being such a fool, for always fantasizing that this relationship could go back to how it used to be.

Ethan didn't come back until evening, carrying a takeout container.

"Why are you asleep so early?" He threw back the covers and roughly pulled me up. "I brought you some food."

Clutching my faintly aching stomach, I was dragged to the dining table. He casually tore open the packaging. "Jessica cooked this for you specially. She knows you have a sensitive stomach, so she made you some nourishing chicken soup."

Ethan thrust a spoon into my hand. The moment he opened the lid, the greasy smell hit me, and I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit.

"What are you waiting for? Eat up."

The doctor had told me to eat light, bland food for now, nothing greasy or spicy. I put the spoon down. "I don't want to eat."

Ethan’s face changed instantly. "What’s with the attitude? Jessica put aside your earlier fight and was kind enough to make you soup. Don't be ungrateful."

He knew my stomach was sensitive, that I never ate greasy food, yet he stubbornly pushed the bowl into my hands. "Eat it! Jessica spent over two hours simmering this!"

I looked at the man before me, the man I had loved for nearly seven years.

From eighteen to twenty-five, scenes from our past flashed through my mind.

The year we graduated, at the bustling ceremony, he knelt on one knee with a bouquet of flowers. "Sarah, marry me, will you?"

In that instant, everything else faded away; my world was only him.

But in the second year of our marriage, he had a car accident. The car plunged off a cliff, his life hanging in the balance.

I begged God, I'd do anything, just to keep him alive.

Perhaps the heavens took pity; he woke up after being in a coma for two months.

But his memory had regressed to the year he graduated high school. He’d forgotten all the hard years I’d spent by his side, but he remembered Jessica, the girl he’d loved from afar in high school but couldn't have.

I quit my job and took care of Ethan for three months. Then, Jessica came back.