In the fifth year of my marriage to Cyrus Shields, I fell ill.

Sparing no cost, he said that he would find the most compatible donor for me.

A week before the surgery, I was knocked out by medication. When I woke up, I touched my hair only to feel a smooth, bare scalp.

Florence Grant stood there holding a pair of clippers, her eyes gleaming gleefully. She said, "Gayle, since you're about to have surgery anyway, I thought I'd help shave it off for you."

But a bone marrow transplant never required shaving one's head.

"Who told you you could do that? That was my hair!" I roared, trembling with rage.

Cyrus pushed the door and entered at that moment, saying, "Florence is still young. She's just a little bit mischievous. Gayle, don't make such a huge fuss over it."

He paused and looked at me with a complicated gaze before saying, "Besides, she's the one donating her bone marrow to you."

All the anger and grievance churning inside me were forcibly pressed back into my chest by what Cyrus said.

He was right. Florence was my hope of surviving.

Seeing me fall silent, Florence cast me a smug glance. She casually set the clippers on the bedside table, then said in a soft, aggrieved tone, "Cyrus, I was just trying to help her. How could she be so mean?"

Cyrus walked over and reached out to ruffle her hair as naturally as breathing. "I know you were just being kind. Don't take it to heart. I'll take you to that restaurant you always wanted to try later."

Then, he turned to look at my bald head. "Gayle, honestly. You've overreacted. It's just hair. It will grow back."

Cyrus had once said that he loved my long hair. In the past, whenever I brushed my hair, and a few strands fell, he would carefully pick them up and say with a smile that he would keep them.

At that moment, all of my hair lay scattered on the floor, yet he said nothing.

I no longer looked at them. My head felt naked. The coolness seeped right into my bones.

"It's fine. Gayle's sick. It's only normal that she's in a bad mood," Florence said understandingly. She picked up an apple by the side and said, "Let me help you peel an apple. You need the vitamins."

Before I could answer, she picked up the fruit knife.

Cyrus smiled at her and looked on.

Her movements were clumsy. The peel came off in uneven strips, taking chunks of flesh with it. Suddenly, she let out a small cry.

"Ouch!"

She had cut her finger.

Cyrus nervously picked her hand up. "How could you be so careless? Does it hurt?" He pulled a bandage from his pocket and carefully wrapped her finger with it. His movements were so gentle as if he were handling fragile glass.

Meanwhile, my own hands were covered in bruised needle marks and tape from days of IV drips. Some spots were still oozing blood.

He had never seemed to notice.

"It's fine, Cyrus. It doesn't hurt." Florence smiled at him before turning toward me. She held out the poorly peeled apple and said, "Here, Gayle. For you."

A wave of nausea washed over me as I looked at that apple.

"I don't want any of it."

Cyrus immediately furrowed his brow. "Gayle, Florence had so kindly peeled the apple for you. Don't be rude."

"I already said, I don't want any of it," I repeated once more before shutting my eyes, refusing to look at them anymore.

Cyrus said with a hint of impatience, "Your temper has been getting worse lately. Florence is here to save your life. Can't you treat her better?"

Florence said gently, ever so understanding, "Cyrus, don't get mad. Gayle's sick and feeling unwell. It's only normal that she's in a bad mood. I don't mind."

Cyrus sighed and placed his arm around Florence. "Let's head out. We'll let her calm down."

They left the door ajar, so I could hear them discussing heading to the restaurant.

Cyrus seemed to have forgotten that he had promised me he was going to get me Mr. Beach's Sandwiches that evening.

The next day, Florence came with a photo album.

"Cyrus said that you've been bored here, so I brought something to keep you company." She pulled a chair next to my bed and opened the photo album.

The photos glided past my eyes, one by one.

Cyrus bought coffee for her daily. Her peaceful sleeping face. Two of them together in all sorts of poses.

My nails dug deeply into my palm. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing pain in my heart.

"Cyrus sure knows how to take a good photo, right?" Florence chuckled innocently. "He said that I pose much better than you. I'm more natural at it."

I snatched the photo album and threw it against the wall. It hit against the wall with a thud. The photo album broke, and the photos fell scattered on the floor.

"Get out," I said through gritted teeth.

Florence seemed to be frightened. Her eyes instantly reddened as she trembled.

"Gayle Lynch, how long are you planning to keep throwing a tantrum like this?" This was the first time Cyrus yelled at me with my full name. Veins popped up on his forehead.

"What did Florence do wrong? She was just trying to cheer you up. Can't you be more understanding?"

"Cheer me up?" I chuckled as tears suddenly fell. "Cyrus, can't you see? Can't you see how upset I am? Can't you see all the needles and holes on my hand? Can't you see that I have lost so much weight? Right now, all you see is her, right?"

I pointed at Florence with a trembling finger. "She's young, she's mischievous, she's kind. Then, what about me? Cyrus, I'm your wife. We have been married for five years. I'm the sick one here."

The muscles on Cyrus' face twitched a little. He avoided my burning gaze and said stiffly, "Don't overthink this. Everything that I am doing now is to save you. What would happen to you without Florence's bone marrow? Can't ýou try to understand the pressure I am under?"

He bent down and picked up a few photos, carefully dusting them off.

"Gayle." He said, "I'm begging you. Please stop making a fuss. Be more understanding. For the surgery. For your life. Be better to Florence."

"For my life," I repeated quietly. "Alright. I understand."

He sighed in relief. Looking at the back of my hand, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. I have been neglecting you. Keep holding on. The surgery will come soon."

I looked at him and said calmly, "I'm tired. I want to rest."

"Alright. Call the nurse for anything. Or you can call me."

They left and closed the door behind them. The room was finally silent.

I pressed the bell, and a nurse soon entered.

"Could you please get me a pen and paper?"

Halfway through writing, the door opened once more. Cyrus entered. He saw me hide the pen and paper. He asked with a frown, "What were you writing?"

"Nothing. I was bored, so I was just doodling."

He didn't suspect anything. He walked over ot the bed and tucked the blanket around. After a moment of silence, he said, "Gayle, there's a favor I would like to ask you."

My heart skipped a bit. I turned to look at him.

"Florence had been staying in the hotel all this time. She has been sleeping badly." He chose his words carefully, avoiding my eyes. "The apartment on West Wing Road happens to be empty. I thought of letting her stay there for now."

"Cyrus." My voice was hoarse. I said with disbelief, "The apartment was where we lived and got married."

"I know." He sounded a little impatient. "But this is a special circumstance. Florence is running around for you. We can't just care for her. Besides, it's only temporary."

After our wedding, we moved into a mansion. Once, I jokingly said that we could rent out the apartment.

Back then, he had gotten furious, saying that the place where we spent so many weekends, which was filled with our memories, must never be touched by anyone else.

"What if I said no?" I tightened my grip on the blanket.

He furrowed his brows and looked at me reprimandingly. "Gayle, how did you become so unreasonable? This matter is decided. Just rest. Don't think too much about it."

He got up and left.

The husband who had found me a lifeline in my dying hour, his heart had uncontrollably tilted toward the young girl holding that lifeline.

For a moment, I couldn't tell. Was she my lifeline or the final straw that would crush me?

On the day of the surgery, Cyrus held my hand tightly, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Don't worry. I'll be waiting for you right outside the operating room."

The nurse handed him a consent form to sign.

Florence walked over to me and said with a smile, "Don't worry. I will properly rescue you."

She bent down and said into my ear, "After all, Cyrus had promised me that once you recover, he will take me to Ice Islands to see the aurora. He said that this is something that he owed me."

She added, "Oh, by the way. The day I shaved your head, Cyrus had been standing outside the door the entire time. I got him to wait. I told him that it was a surprise for you. He agreed to it."

Her breath brushed against my ear, sending a chill through my entire body.

Cyrus walked over. "What are you two talking about?"

Florence stood up straight. "Nothing. It's our secret."

He didn't press further. Instead, he looked at me seriously. "Gayle, I'll be waiting for you to come out."

The doors of the operating room opened before me… then slowly closed.

In the final second before my consciousness sank into darkness, the last thing that flashed through my mind was Cyrus over the past five years.

I had once casually mentioned how I like a cake from a certain bakery. He had queued up for three hours just to get them for me.

Whenever he returned from business trips, his suitcase was always stuffed with little gifts for me, sometimes local snacks, sometimes a delicate bookmark.

When I tried learning to cook, he finished that plate of charred, blackened food without changing expression, giving me a thumbs-up.

"What creative cooking! Keep it up next time!" Then, he would secretly gulp water down.

The day I was diagnosed with my illness, he held me, trembling harder than I was, his voice shaking, "Don't be afraid, Gayle. I'm here with you. We'll certainly get you treated. We will have many more five years together."

…

When I opened my eyes once more, I was back in the room.

The nurse saw me looking around, so she said, "You must be looking for Mr. Shields. He is with Ms. Grant at the moment."

I shut my eyes as tears fell onto my pillow. Luckily, I survived. To live was the most important thing.

As for the others, they didn't mean anything anymore.

My lawyer sent me the document according to my request.

When Cyrus came to visit me, it was late.

"Gayle, look. Your favorite sunflowers." He placed the bouquet by the nightstand. "There will be more sunshine in your life in the future."

I quietly looked at him. "Where were you just now?"

"Florence wasn't feeling too well." He cleared his throat and continued, "After all, she had just donated her bone marrow. It takes a toll on her. So, I stayed with her a little bit longer. Gayle, I'm sure you understand, right? She's your savior."

Savior.

How insulting.

"Hmm." I said gently, "You should be with her."

Cyrus sighed in relief. He walked over and tried to hold my hand, but I subtly hid my hand underneath the blanket.

He paused, assuming I was simply uncomfortable, and didn't think much of it.

"I knew you'd be understanding, Gayle." He sighed in relief, as if a great burden had just been lifted. "Once you recover, we must properly thank Florence. She has done so much for us."

"Yes." I quietly chimed in, "She has done a lot, so you should give her whatever she wants."

Cyrus looked at me. He wanted to say something, but he hesitated.

"Oh, by the way." I handed him the document folder and said calmly, "The nurse just gave me this. Some after-surgery documents that you need to sign. Please sign them."

Cyrus didn't suspect a thing, swiftly signing his name on the document.

"Gayle, there's an urgent project at work that needs me in Ice Islands. I didn't want to leave you but…"

"Just go," I interrupted him. "Work is important. The nurse can take care of me. I'll be fine."

I accepted the document folder and clutched it tightly in my hands.

He looked at me with a complicated gaze. "Are you sure you'll be alright alone?"

"Yes, I'm sure." I nodded and smiled at him. "Go. Come back soon."

"Take care. I'll be back as soon as I can." He kissed me on the forehead before saying, "I can stay a bit longer tonight with you. My flight is at nine tomorrow morning."

So was mine.