My Dying Gift: Their Wedding

In a Dare Challenge video, I saw a conversation between my best friend, Kewell, and her boyfriend, Paul.

Kewell asked Paul, Dare you tell Joel we slept together?

Paul said, No way.

Kewell replied, Coward. Honestly, I wouldn't dare either. Joel is my best friend, always has been. She's more important than you.

The comments section was filled with people trashing them, sticking up for me.

But they didn't know that I was the one who owed Kewell and Paul.

Paul had gone to jail for me, stabbing someone, and his dream of becoming a police officer was shattered forever.

Kewell had been assaulted because of me, losing hearing in one ear, and she woke up screaming from nightmares every night.

I clutched the late-stage cancer report in my hand, then smiled, a wave of acceptance washing over me, and called Kewell:

"Can you come with me to try on wedding dresses?"

I had nothing else to give them, only a wedding.

Of course, I wouldn't be the bride. She would.

Kewell arrived while I was trying on wedding dresses.

A satin mermaid gown, adorned with pearls C Kewell's preferred elegant and sophisticated style.

She looked confused. "But don't you like elaborate, long-train gowns?"

"I thought I'd change my style," I said with a soft smile.

She didn't notice how pale my face was; her eyes were fixed on the dress, sparkling.

Before that incident, she often used to dream with me about her future wedding.

She said she wanted to walk down the aisle in a satin mermaid gown, with the venue covered in champagne-colored roses

Kewell, I remembered it all.

I took her slightly cold hand. "Could you try it on for me, please?"

Kewell flinched as if my hand's warmth had burned her. "No, that won't do. A wedding dress is so sacred, I"

"But I'm a little tired! Just help me out." I whined and nuzzled into her neck.

Kewell finally nodded. She always had a soft spot for me.

Without a second thought, she changed into the gown. In front of the huge full-length mirror, her eyes sparkled like a little girl who'd found a treasure.

But then, Kewell's eyes welled up.

She turned her back to wipe away her tears, choking back a sob. "Are you going to marry Paul in this?"

I nodded. "Yes."

Her voice trembled. "Then, congratulations, Joel."

I lowered my head, silent. Suddenly, a furious shout broke the quiet. "What are you doing?!"

I turned to see Paul. I was about to speak.

Paul grabbed my wrist without a word and dragged me towards the changing room.

He wasn't careful with his strength, gripping my wrist so hard it felt like he was trying to crush my bones.

His strides were long, and I gasped, struggling to keep up.

He was blinded by rage, not noticing his force as he violently slammed me against the changing room wall.

My whole body shook with pain, and tears streamed down my face, an unwelcome betrayal.

"Joel, do you even have a heart?! You asked Kewell to try on a wedding dress for you, knowing full well she can never get married because of you!"

My lips were pale, and I struggled to open my mouth to explain.

Paul's bloodshot eyes shot me a venomous look. "How could you be so heartless, twisting the knife in her wound?"

No, that wasn't it.

I wanted to explain, but I didn't know what to say.

Should I tell him I saw Kewell's account and knew they'd slept together?

Should I tell him I didn't want to hurt her, that I was giving her the wedding and him?

Should I tell him I was dying soon?

But all those words choked in my throat, impossible to say.

Paul coldly dropped a single sentence. "You've disappointed me greatly."

He turned and left with Kewell to change.

The sales assistant looked at me awkwardly. She asked, "That wedding dress"

Recalling the fleeting sparkle in Kewell's eyes, I pulled out my card. "I'll take it."

This was their first wedding gift from me.

Soon, I arranged the second gift.

I submitted a new wedding plan to the wedding planning company.

They looked troubled. "The new plan is completely different from the previous one, Ms. Schmidt."

I felt a pang of guilt, remembering how they'd worked sleepless nights on the first plan. "Can I pay extra?"

After I offered a generous amount, they promised to deliver a flawless champagne rose-themed wedding in a month.

I smiled faintly and told them, "The bride's name needs to be changed as well."

The assistant, who had been smiling moments before, gaped at me.

"I'm dying soon. I want the two most important people in my life to take care of each other."

There was no malice in my eyes, only a pure innocence that made the assistant think I was joking.

"It's late-stage cancer, no cure. Please don't tell them."

I spoke each word clearly, and the assistant stammered, "O-okay"

Stepping out of the store, I slowly exhaled.

But a wave of nausea hit me, and I doubled over, dry heaving until I vomited blood.

I fumbled in my bag for my medication, only to realize I'd accidentally left the special pills, disguised as regular stomach medicine, in Paul's car.

Frantically, I pulled out my phone and called Paul. "Paul, my stomach hurts, and my pills are in your car. Could you"

In the past, Paul would panic if I so much as scraped my finger, running a mile to get me iodine and bandages.

But today, he was unusually silent. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead from the pain.

"W-what?"

I almost wondered if I was in so much pain I was hallucinating.

"Did you also see Kewell's Ins post? You know she's drunk at a bar right now and it's dangerous, yet you're using these petty tricks to get my attention and stop me from going to get her."

"I'm not."

The pain made my vision swim, and my heart felt like it was being pounded by a blunt object.

A thick cloud of injustice crept into my heart, and my nose began to sting.

"Enough. You're getting so selfish. Kewell already sacrificed so much for you once."

"She can't be hurt again. Buy your own medicine."

I nodded, wanting to say 'okay,' but realized the call had already been disconnected.

I gazed at the empty street, forcing myself to stay upright, though my body felt like it would collapse, and headed back to the hospital for more medication.

It hurt so much! I hated pain. I had booked euthanasia abroad, just three days before the wedding.

After taking my medicine, I started writing my will at home.

As I wrote, my eyelids started to droop.

I slumped on the desk, my mind hazy, and dreamt of the past.

Kewell, Paul, and I were eighteen, the inseparable trio, the 'It' crowd of our city.

But everything changed the day I accepted Paul's confession and went home.

My adoptive uncle, Richard, had been drugged.

His eyes were bloodshot as he looked at me and the roses in my hand, asking, "Joel, don't you love me?"

I had only ever seen him as an elder, never harboring any other thoughts.

He crept closer, knocking the phone out of my hand before I could call for help.

He cornered me against the window, and I screamed for help to Kewell and Paul, who hadn't gone far.

They burst in, seeing Richard pinning me to the floor, and Paul's eyes turned red.

He grabbed a fruit knife from the table and plunged it into Richard's back.

Kewell, fearing what might happen, held Richard in a death grip as he tried to chase us.

Gripping his waist tightly, she didn't hesitate. "Joel, take Paul and go! Something bad will happen!"

I struggled to drag Paul away, who looked ready to go back and finish him off.

I thought that if I separated Paul from the scene while he was in a fit of rage, nothing else would happen.

I thought the tragedy had stopped there, but I was wrong. It was only just beginning.

My uncle, Richard, whom I had respected and loved since childhood, my usually refined uncle, had assaulted Kewell under the influence of drugs.

When we returned to the villa with the police, I saw a memory I would forever wish to forget.

Kewell lay pale on the wooden floor.

Her clothes were in tatters, blood gushing from one ear Richard had slapped her and her face was marred with bite marks.

She was rushed to the hospital.

But assault wasn't flirting; her injuries were so severe that she would never be able to have children.

Upon learning the news, Kewell's mother lunged at me and slapped me hard. "Why was it Kewell who got hurt, not you?!"

"It's all your fault, you're a walking disaster."

A tidal wave of guilt swallowed me whole, and in a daze, I walked to the hospital's rooftop.

I told myself I needed to atone to Kewell.

But Kewell pulled me back from the edge, crying, "What about Paul and me if you die?!"

"Please don't die."

I smiled and nodded, but secretly hid a fruit knife in my sleeve.

It was all for me; I wanted Richard to pay for what he did to Kewell.

I pushed open the villa door, and an eerie silence hung in the air.

Richard was dead. He'd slit his wrists in the bathtub.

He'd left a suicide note and a letter of apology and understanding.

My eighteenth year, my youth, ended so abruptly.

When I woke up from the nightmare, I realized Paul hadn't come home all night.

I opened Ins, and Kewell's private account popped up on my feed again.

This time, the video showed two hands intertwined on a bed, with the wedding bed I'd personally picked out as the background.

The caption read: "Sorry, Joel, this is our last indulgence."

I smiled helplessly. Kewell was so foolish.

That wedding house was their third wedding gift from me.

Why the rush?

But then, the pain of the double betrayal by my best friend and the man I loved surged through my heart.

I rushed into the bathroom and dry heaved over the sink. I looked up and realized tears were streaming down my face.

When the pain reached its peak, I started hallucinating.

In the mirror, it was a vibrant, youthful Kewell, looking up with her innocent face, asking me:

"I want a satin mermaid gown, a wedding covered in champagne roses Do you remember all of it?"

I smiled faintly, nodding at the empty air. "I remember, I remember it all, Kewell."

Happy wedding, Kewell and Paul.

The sound of a key turning in the lock came from the door. I haphazardly wiped away my tears and walked out.

Paul walked in, supporting Kewell with one hand and holding my pill bottle in the other.

Their eyes met my swollen, red eyes, and for a fleeting moment, they showed shock and concern.

Then, Paul frowned deeply. "How long are you going to keep making a fuss? Shouldn't I go get Kewell, considering her state?"

He threw the pill bottle at my feet. "Stop playing the victim for attention, okay? Haven't we sacrificed enough for you?"

I bent down to pick up the pill bottle, saying calmly, "Okay, thank you."

Perhaps I was too calm, Paul looked bewildered for a moment.

Kewell turned and pushed Paul's supporting hand away. She limped over and spread her arms in front of me:

"What's wrong with you, Paul? Why are you yelling at Joel?!"

I saw her slightly trembling arms and that one ear that could no longer hear.

I suddenly remembered countless times in the past when she had stood in front of me like that.

When a dog chased me in elementary school, Kewell spread her arms to shield me.

In middle school, when the school bully forced me to be her girlfriend, Kewell stood in front of me.

And during the incident with Richard, it was her who stood in front of me.

My nose suddenly stung, and I tried to suppress the injustice I felt. "I'm sorry, I won't make a fuss anymore."

Hearing my words, Paul's body trembled.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.

But I pulled Kewell and turned upstairs, playfully toying with her hand.

I began preparing their fourth wedding gift.

I asked casually, as if it didn't matter, "Is your ring finger still size twelve?"

"Mm-hmm," Kewell replied distractedly.

Then she smiled and asked, "Are you getting me a gift?"

"Yes, and you'll love it."

"How do you know what I want?"

I looked at her gently. "Then tell me, what do you want?"

Kewell gently flicked my nose. "I want you to be healthy and live a long, happy life."

I smiled and said, "Okay."

But deep down, I sighed. I'm sorry, Kewell, that's one wish I can't fulfill.

I returned my wedding ring and exchanged it for Kewell's favorite brand.

The woman's ring, a size twelve, felt unusually loose on my hand.

It was then I realized that the illness had wasted me away to skin and bones, yet Kewell and Paul hadn't noticed.

In the past, if I lost even a pound, they'd get furious and blame each other for not taking good care of me.

Now my cheeks were hollow, my wrists alarmingly thin, and neither of them had noticed.

I placed the ring in its original box so they could use it directly on their wedding day.

After doing all this, I found I didn't even have the strength to lift my wrist.

I took a deep breath, feeling as if the pain in my stomach would kill me instantly.

I forced myself to the garden, wanting to see the white rose bush my mother left me.

I'd already left this house to Kewell. I thought that if they lived in the marital home permanently, and if they weren't too bothered by the morbid thought, I hoped my ashes could be buried under this white rose bush.

Like I was returning to my mother's embrace.

But the scene in the rose bush made my eyes burn, the pain making it almost impossible to breathe.

The entire white rose garden had been carelessly torn up and trampled.

I screamed at the people, "What are you doing?!"

The gardener, confused, replied, "Mr. Paul asked us to change them. He said he was getting married soon, and he didn't like white roses; he wanted champagne-colored ones instead."

My body swayed precariously, and a mix of injustice and a flicker of unexpected hatred crept into my heart.

Even if he didn't love me anymore, he could have told me.

Why did he have to destroy the only keepsake my mother left me?

I stopped everyone, telling them to restore the rose bush to its original state.

My eyes burning, I ran to the study; I needed to talk to Paul clearly.

I needed to tell him everything. I was dying soon; he shouldn't bully me anymore.

He and Kewell could be together in peace. I wouldn't blame them; it was just me paying my debts.

I pushed open the study door. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, clutching several papers tightly in his hands.

I looked closer and realized they were my cancer reports.

"Why didn't you tell me?"