Waiting for a Skyful of Blue Rain

The diagnosis report crumpled in her hand, its edges curling like the abruptly withering remains of her own life.

“Late-stage gastric cancer... estimated remaining time, no more than three months.”

The doctor’s calm voice still echoed in her ears, each word merciless, each one piercing Carolyn’s heart.

Trembling, she fumbled for her phone. That number, memorized by heart, sat pinned at the top of her contacts.

After an agonizingly long dial tone, the call connected. Ronald’s steady, composed voice came through.

“Carolyn? What is it?”

Her throat tightened. She forced her voice calm. “Ronald, if... just if, I don’t have much time left... what would you do?”

A brief silence stretched. She could almost hear the roar of her own heartbeat.

Finally, he spoke, his tone still even. “Don’t talk nonsense. I’ll stay with you. Until the end.”

Reliable as ever—an anchor in her unsteady world.

Even knowing this might have nothing to do with love, that it was just Ronald’s ingrained sense of duty, Carolyn’s heart was briefly soothed by that single word: *stay*.

See? At least he wouldn’t abandon her.

She tried to twist her lips into a smile, one that probably looked worse than crying.

But before that smile could reach her eyes, it was utterly crushed the very next second.

At the hospital lobby entrance, a sudden, urgent commotion.

There was the man who had just promised over the phone to stay with her until the end, now carrying a slender woman in his arms, rushing in with frantic steps.

His face held a panic she’d never seen before, fine beads of sweat dotting his temples.

“Doctor! Where’s a doctor!”

His voice had lost all its usual composure, laced with an unmistakable tremor, raw with urgency.

Carolyn felt nailed to the spot, her blood turning to ice.

Instinctively, she shrank back into the shadow of a pillar. She watched as Ronald carefully laid the girl on a gurney, listened as he rapidly described her condition to the doctors—his worry and fear so thick they seemed tangible.

So, Ronald wasn’t always calm and controlled.

He could panic. He could lose all composure. For someone.

It’s just that someone had never been her. Never Carolyn.

A sharp pain lanced through her chest, a thousand times worse than the cancer’s discomfort.

She watched them disappear down the emergency corridor, and with them, the last of her strength seemed to drain away.

Carolyn returned home, her spirit broken.

From the depths of a drawer, she pulled out the marriage certificate with its red cover and gold lettering. Cold to the touch, it held not a shred of warmth.

In the photo, she was smiling, eyes crinkled, her heart and gaze full of the man beside her.

And Ronald? He simply looked calmly at the camera, distant and polite.

Over twenty years of growing up together. All that time, she’d spent chasing his shadow.

When his family’s fortunes fell, it was she who used their marriage as a bargaining chip, begging her parents to save the crumbling foundation of the Ronald family.

The day she proposed, she’d said, “Ronald, let’s get married. You don’t have to like me. Just give me the title.”

He’d been silent for a long, long time—so long Carolyn thought he’d refuse.

Finally, he’d looked up, his eyes a deep pool she couldn’t fathom. “Carolyn, I will never let you down.”

She’d once foolishly asked, “If you ever meet someone you truly love, tell me. I’ll let you go.”

Back then, Ronald had simply smiled faintly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Don’t overthink it. Since I married you, I’ll give you a reliable future.”

A reliable future...

Carolyn’s tears finally broke through, scalding as they fell onto the cold plastic laminate, blurring the image beneath.

Night deepened. A faint click sounded from the entryway—the key turning in the lock.

Carolyn hurriedly wiped her tears and shoved the marriage certificate back into its place.

The door opened. Ronald walked in.

And right behind him followed the girl who had made him lose all composure at the hospital.