A Delayed Visit to the Doctor

On the day I died, my husband was being lifted onto a pedestal by his new book, *Born Toward the Sun*.

The book told the inspirational story of how he and his first love fought cancer together.

She was a fellow patient he had met during treatment.

The whole internet praised the resilience of life and cried over their love, the kind that seemed to cling to each other between life and death.

No one knew that his treatment had been paid for by me.

I worked in an office during the day and delivered food at night, order by order, mile by mile.

He survived cancer.

But I worked myself sick, ate irregularly for too long, developed stomach cancer, and died vomiting blood.

When I opened my eyes again, my husband was standing in front of me, handing me his cancer diagnosis.

The water that had filled my brain in my last life seemed to flow out through my eyes.

This time, I was perfectly clear-headed.

So I let myself collapse onto the sofa.

Forget seek treatment as soon as possible.

Let me perform first.

I was back.

Back to the day my husband, Ryan Cole, was diagnosed with leukemia.

I looked at the diagnosis in front of me.

Lymphocytic leukemia.

Ryan and I had been college classmates. We dated for two years on campus, married after graduation, and spent four sweet years as a couple.

We had even planned to start trying for a baby this year.

In my last life, I got Ryans call and rushed home after asking for leave from work.

When I learned about his illness, it felt like lightning striking a clear sky.

But when I saw how devastated he looked, I forced myself to pull together.

I knew I couldnt fall apart.

Ryan was more fragile than I was at that moment. He needed me.

The diagnosis recommended seeking treatment as soon as possible.

So I hurriedly packed our things and took him to the hospital that very day.

After all, for things like bone marrow donation, the earlier you got in line, the better your odds.

In the rush, there were bound to be oversights.

And later, that became one of Ryans reasons for resenting me.

Audrey always does things in such a panic. She never thinks things through.

At the time, I blamed myself. I thought I shouldnt have lost my head in the chaos.

But later, I accidentally heard him sigh to another patient.

If only Id been admitted one day later. Then I could have shared a room with Lily.

His voice was full of regret.

Lily was the cancer patient in the next room.

She was also the first love in his book.

Thinking of that, I lowered my eyes.

I refused to look at the face I had once found handsome and now found almost hateful.

Since he regretted it so much, I would make his wish come true this time.

I closed my eyes. Warm liquid slid from the corners.

It reached my lips, but I couldnt taste salt.

I thought perhaps these were the waters from my flooded brain in my last life.

So I cried even harder.

And my mind became clearer.

Sometimes, doing something well is far less important than looking like you are.

I let myself go limp on the sofa, head tilted at an elegant forty-five-degree angle.

My face held four parts grief, three parts panic, two parts helplessness, and one part fragile beauty.

Seeing me cry so hard I couldnt speak, Ryan seemed to feel the heavy stone in his own chest loosen.

He actually began comforting me softly.

Audrey, its okay. Ill always be with you.

That had never happened in my last life.

Back then, I quickly wiped away my tears, became his pillar, and arranged his hospital admission as fast as possible.

Through the whole process, Ryan had been like a puppet with its strings cut, completely defeated.

I was the one running up and down, while still taking care of his emotions.

Who would have thought that in this life, shedding a few extra tears would make Ryan feel even more comforted?

So I only cried and said nothing.

After a long while, I finally stopped my attack of tears. Crying took energy too.

Ryan, well get you treated properly. Youll recover.

Before he could answer, I struggled to my feet.

I kept muttering, You rest. Ill hurry to the store. Hospital stay means towels, and

My mouth didnt stop, and my steps were hurried. I looked busy from head to toe.

Ryans expression softened more and more.

What a thoughtful wife I was.

So considerate.

So completely devoted to him.

Preparing everything took time.

By the time I finished, we could only go to the hospital the next day.

Listening to the shower running in the bathroom, I took my phone from my bag. The slightly hard touch under my fingers steadied me.

It was the tiny voice recorder I had bought that day.

I opened TikTok and created an account.

Expressionless, I wrote my first diary entry.

[Day One After My Husbands Leukemia Diagnosis: Preparing for admission. Come on. You can do this. You can protect him.]

The photos were his diagnosis and the two large bags of supplies I had bought.

I blurred the personal information on the diagnosis, leaving only the word leukemia visible.

After posting, I logged out and put the phone back in my bag.

The bathroom door opened. Ryan came out in a robe, his hair still dripping.

By instinct, I wanted to grab a towel and dry it for him.

In my last life, I did that every time.

I was terrified he would catch a cold and affect his treatment.

Taking care of him in every possible way had become a habit carved into my bones.

Whats wrong?

Seeing me stand, Ryan looked confused.

Nothing. Im going to shower.

I smoothly withdrew the hand that had been reaching for the towel and walked into the bathroom.

In the mirror, my eyes were faintly red at the edges.

Steam filled the bathroom, blurring everything. For a moment, I seemed to see the wretched version of myself from my last life.

I reached out and wiped the fog from the mirror.

And with it, I smoothed away the tiny ripple that had risen in my heart.

The woman in the mirror had deep, still eyes.

There was no trace of panic from just learning her husband had cancer.

Early the next morning, I carried two large bags and accompanied Ryan to the hospital.

I remembered at all times that I had to be a proper good wife.

And a good wife, of course, had to record every detail.

Click.

My phone captured a photo of our departure for battle.

In the picture, the womans back was straight, not crushed by the two heavy bags. Her face wore a strong smile.

By contrast, the man beside her carried a small bag. His smile was forced, shadowed by gloom.

Anyone who saw it would think I was the good wife about to carry the weight of the whole family without being broken.

Diary material plus one.

After completing the admission paperwork, Ryan was assigned to Room 21.

The very room he had pined over for so long in my last life.

Back then, we had arrived one day earlier, and he had been placed in Room 22 next door.

Right after he was admitted, a bed had opened in Room 21, right next to Lilys.

He regretted it for ages.

Later, he even resented me for it, blaming me for being too hasty and making him miss the chance to be closer to Lily.

Ryans bed was by the window.

On the bed beside his sat a young woman with her legs crossed.

She was in her early twenties, bald from treatment, and looking down at a book.

Hearing us, she lifted her head and smiled brightly.

Hi there.

Her voice was crisp, nothing like a person suffering from cancer.

Her smile made me dazed for a moment.

She was like a bright splash of color in that pale hospital room.

Apparently, I was not the only one dazed.

Ryan froze too.

Then his eyes lit up like searchlights.

That light was different from the gentle warmth I had seen in him before.

Before, he was like fruit wine, warm and mellow, enough to make someone softly drunk.

Now, the light in his eyes was like hard liquor, burning hot.

Hi. Im Ryan.

Everyone calls me Lily, the girl said with an easy smile.

Lily was lively and talkative.

Soon, the atmosphere in the room became animated.

She was completely open about her eye-catching bald head.

It looks a little ugly, but washing my hair is so easy now.

Not ugly. Not ugly at all, Ryan said, word by word, his eyes full of seriousness.

Lily froze slightly.

She glanced at me as I busied myself setting things up, then seemed a little embarrassed and quickly changed the subject.

So everything had signs from the beginning.

In my last life, to cover Ryans expensive medical bills, I worked delivery after my day job.

Under both mental and physical pressure, my hair fell out in handfuls.

When Ryan saw it, he was only disgusted.

He told me to pay attention to my appearance and stop getting hair everywhere.

Audrey, your scalp is showing. Its kind of gross.

Audrey, why are you so sloppy now? Your hair got on my blanket.

Perhaps in Ryans eyes, Lilys bald head represented the glow of life.

While my hair loss was nothing but the messy reality of daily struggle.

My hands did not pause as I made the bed and arranged his things.

Using my body as cover, I placed the tiny voice recorder in a hidden corner.

Once everything was settled, I stepped outside the room and called my mother-in-law.

The real me would not stupidly carry this burden alone again.

I was never Ryans parents ideal daughter-in-law.

One reason was that my parents had died young, and my family offered no real support.

But they forgot something.

When we married, I had only asked symbolically for a bride gift of six thousand six hundred dollars.

And in the end, every cent went back into household expenses.

The old me thought Ryan was my whole life.

Whatever I had belonged to our little home.

As someone alone in the world, I longed for family. So I gave everything, every ounce of my heart, to maintaining that home.

In my last life, Ryan persuaded me not to touch his parents retirement money unless there was no other choice.

Audrey, we still have about two hundred thousand. If something happens to me, we cant leave my parents with nothing in old age

Back then, I couldnt bear hearing him talk like that. I quickly agreed.

I thought I was young. If I worked a few more jobs, I could make it through.

Later, one of his relatives accidentally let slip that my in-laws had nearly a million dollars in demolition compensation from their hometown property.

So my understanding of them had been that shallow.

After four years of marriage, I was still an outsider.

In my last life, whether Ryan or his parents, they all watched me work by day and deliver food by night.

Through wind and rain, growing more haggard by the day.

No one ever mentioned that million.

The phone rang seven or eight times.

In my heart, I counted.

Nine. Ten.

My mother-in-laws dissatisfaction with me also showed in how she answered calls.

She never picked up immediately. She always waited until the call was about to end before leisurely pressing answer.

Hello, Mom. Ryan is in the hospital. My voice carried a sob. The doctor says treatment will cost hundreds of thousands.

Mom, what should I do?

After a passionate crying performance, I hung up, still wanting more.

I guessed the old couple would arrive from their hometown tomorrow.

Just as in my last life, I registered on a food delivery app, preparing to deliver after work.

But this time, I would not work myself to death.

In my last life, I wanted to buy Ryan the best medicine possible.

I wished I could grow eight arms. I kept refreshing the app for orders and rode my scooter like I was flying.

Several times, I was nearly hit.

Rain, wind, snow, it didnt matter. I usually worked until midnight every day before returning home.

To squeeze in more orders, I often missed meals. When I ate, I would grab a bun or piece of bread and swallow a few bites casually.

Now?

After eating my fill, I opened the app at a leisurely pace.

Too far, no.

Too heavy, no.

After picking a few easy orders, I called it a night.

When I got home, I logged into TikTok and began editing the days material.

Including hospital clips, delivery clips, and more.

I wrote my second diary entry:

[Got my husband to the hospital in time. The doctor estimates treatment will cost hundreds of thousands. Its okay. I can still do delivery part-time. Smile.jpg]

The next day, my in-laws arrived at the hospital.

The moment my mother-in-law entered the room and saw Ryan, her eyes reddened.

Son, youve suffered.

Ryan quickly comforted her.

Mom, its okay. The doctor said its treatable.

As he spoke, guilt appeared on his face.

Dad, Mom, I made you worry.

The three of them looked warm and close.

I arrived in my bright delivery vest, like an intruder ruining the scene.

My voice trembled.

Dad, Mom, Ill take good care of Ryan.

My fingers tugged at the delivery vest, and I lowered my head in shame.

But the economy is bad right now. Last night I only made forty-one dollars

Halfway through, I lost control and began wiping tears.

Ryan, who had looked vaguely disapproving, now seemed moved.

My mother-in-law stiffened. Then for the first time ever, she reached out and patted my arm.

Youre a good girl. Ryan is our only child. Even if we have to sell everything, well treat him.

As she spoke, she took out her phone.

We came in a hurry. We only have thirty-six thousand and change on hand. Ill transfer it to you for emergencies first. Later, Ill ask relatives to lend us more.

Thirty-six thousand and change.

Very convincing.

I did not mind that it was little.

With the first thirty-six thousand, could the second be far behind?

I looked deeply moved.

Dad, Mom, Ryan will definitely treat you well in the future.

The days passed one by one.

I still worked in the office during the day and delivered a few orders at night depending on my mood.

Every day, I checked in at the hospital. I never stayed long, but my photo album recorded my figure at the hospital every night.

Every few days, I made Ryan a nice nutritious meal.

But making it every day and changing the menu constantly like in my last life?

Impossible.

In my last life, the doctor said nutrition was important for patients.

So I shamelessly asked the doctor for details, from meals to snacks.

For a while, the doctor practically avoided me.

I also searched online.

To get Ryan to eat a few more bites, I learned recipes from food bloggers.

The meals had to be nutritious and delicious.

I did not want the effort from my last life to go to waste.

On TikTok, my diary became richer and richer.

I wrote out all the experience I had gained from caring for Ryan in my last life.

How to book specialists.

How to handle donor matching.

How to prepare nutritious meals for patients.

Post by post, I turned it into practical content.

These were all things I had learned through countless sleepless nights, endless research, and consulting many people.

Cancer tortured patients physically.

But family members carried both mental and financial pressure.

My account followers grew from zero to ten.

Then one hundred.

Then over three thousand two hundred.

People began thanking me in the comments, saying my posts were useful.

The effort of my last life was finally being seen.

But Ryan still did not see it.

His eyes were full of Lily now.

If Lily had one more needle mark on her hand, he felt heartache.

If the book Lily read was one he loved, he was delighted.

They talked from *Norwegian Wood* to *Gone with the Wind*, then to *Wuthering Heights*. The more they talked, the more perfectly they clicked.

Lily was like spiritual opium for Ryan.

With her, he could no longer feel the terror of cancer. He no longer feared life suddenly ending.

Ryan had a literary side, which was one of the things I loved about him in my last life.

Whenever he spoke eloquently about some classic novel, I always looked at him with starry eyes.

But when I shared my own thoughts, he would give me a look that said, You dont understand.

Now, he and Lily were chatting happily.

I put down the thermos, left the room, and updated my diary.

[My husband chatted about literature with his fellow patient today. His smile was very bright. As long as hes happy. I just feel a little regretful that I couldnt join the conversation. I need to work harder.]