My Final Journey, I Met My Ex

After I was diagnosed with stage IV stomach cancer, I booked a one-way ticket to the Swiss Alps.

My only wish was to die peacefully in the snow.

But I never expected to run into Ethan Miller, my ex-husband of three years, on the summit's cable car.

Three years had passed, and he'd had the tattoo of my name removed from his wrist.

As for me, I'd lost all my hair and could only hide my ostomy bag beneath a bulky winter coat.

The woman beside Ethan, Chloe Peterson, asked:

"Who is she?"

Ethan looked at me, his voice flat:

"My ex-wife."

Then he added, "Chloe is my wife now. We got married when you were pregnant."

He looked into my eyes when he said it, as if expecting a reaction.

But I was long past the point of having the strength for hysterics. I just smiled calmly.

"That's nice. I wish you and your family all the best."

"No thanks, it'll hurt if you press on the tube."

I looked at the cashmere scarf Ethan offered, my voice barely a whisper.

The cable car swayed violently in the strong winds halfway up the mountain.

The automated announcement played robotically.

"Due to extreme wind speeds at the summit, the cable car will temporarily slow down. Please hold onto the handrails."

Chloe hugged the child in her arms tighter.

She frowned, waving a hand in front of her nose.

"Ethan, why does this cabin smell so strongly of medicine and antiseptic?"

Ethan instinctively shielded his child behind him.

He glanced at me, then pulled back the scarf he'd offered.

His gaze lingered on my winter coat.

Perhaps he thought I'd gotten fat, or just looked bad.

His tone was flat, his instructions tinged with a sense of entitlement.

"Rory, let Leo sit for a while. It's his first time in Switzerland."

I was sitting by the window.

It was the only spot in the entire cabin shielded from the wind.

After a few seconds of silence, I slowly stood up, holding onto the cold metal railing of the cable car.

My movements were sluggish.

The safety bar was pressing against my ostomy bag and drainage tube.

Even a slight shift would pull at the still-healing wound in my abdomen.

Ethan watched my slow movements, his brow furrowed.

He simply thought I was being difficult.

"It's been three years. No need to take it out on the child."

His voice deepened slightly, laced with a lecturing tone.

I didn't argue. I just moved little by little to the windy spot.

Cold air seeped in through the cracks, chilling me to the bone.

The cable car jolted violently again.

My footing slipped, and I stumbled forward.

Ethan instinctively reached out, grabbing my wrist.

Even through the thick sleeve of my winter coat, he sensed something was off.

His hand stiffened.

"How did you get so thin?"

He asked in a low voice, a flicker of surprise, which he didn't even realize, flashed in his eyes.

I gently pulled my hand away.

Hiding my wrist in my sleeve.

"I'm bundled up for winter, you must have misseen."

My tone was calm.

He didn't press further.

Chloe had tugged at his sleeve.

"Ethan, Leo says he feels a little carsick."

Ethan immediately turned, pulled a thermos from his pocket, and bent down to comfort the child.

I leaned against the corner of the cabin, watching the family of three.

A sudden cramp seized my stomach.

I remembered the first year we were married.

I used to suffer from stomach problems all the time back then.

One night, I was curled up in bed, drenched in cold sweat from the pain. Ethan, without even bothering to put on his shoes properly, scooped me up and rushed me to the emergency room.

He held my hand tightly in the hospital corridor.

"Rory, every time you hurt from now on, I'll be there with you."

But in that same year.

Chloe got pregnant with his child.

Five years of betrayal, dismissed by him with a casual "I was under too much pressure."

"Auntie, why don't you have hair?"

A child's innocent voice broke my reverie.

Leo peeked out from Chloe's arms, staring at me curiously.

"Are you sick like Grandpa?"

Chloe's face changed, and she quickly clapped a hand over the child's mouth.

"Leo, don't say silly things."

Ethan turned, his gaze falling on my head, covered by a wool beanie.

His eyes held a searching look, and a hint of annoyance.

I wasn't embarrassed.

I just lightly touched my bald scalp through the hat.

"Because I wanted to see the snow."

I looked out at the vast white snow-capped mountains.

"So it didn't have time to grow back."

A cable car attendant came over, reminding us not to move around freely.

He glanced at my pale face.

"Ma'am, you don't look so good. Do you need us to call the medical station at the summit?"

"No, thank you."

I shook my head.

As we exited the cable car, the announcement warned visitors about icy conditions underfoot.

But as soon as I took a step, a warmth suddenly spread across my side.

I knew it. The baseplate of my ostomy bag had peeled up from the freezing temperature.

I avoided the crowd exiting the cable car and quickly walked towards the summit's visitor center.

The hem of my winter coat pressed tightly against my side.

The warm, seeping sensation became more and more obvious.

The wind on the mountaintop was fierce, cutting right through you.

The visitor center was packed with people seeking shelter from the cold.

A long queue snaked in front of the hot water dispenser.

I found the accessible restroom and locked the door.

There was no shelf or counter inside.

I could only hang my backpack on the doorknob, using my numb, reddened hands to search for my medical kit.

My fingers were stiff and unresponsive.

As I peeled off the skin barrier, I accidentally tugged at the skin around my drainage tube.

Cold sweat instantly beaded on my forehead.

Patients with ostomies fear low temperatures the most when traveling.

The adhesive on the baseplate tends to fail in sub-zero temperatures.

I took a deep breath, cleaning the area little by little with a wet wipe.

Then I placed a spare baseplate onto my cold abdomen.

The entire process took almost half an hour.

I packed the used medical waste into a sealed bag.

When I pushed open the restroom door,

Ethan Miller was standing in the corridor outside.

He was waiting for his child to use the restroom.

He saw me emerge, pale-faced, clutching a bag of trash.

Chloe walked over from the other side, holding the child's hand.

She openly frowned.

"Why is she still so weird?"

Chloe lowered her voice, but just enough for me to hear.

"She always used to hide away alone, and now she monopolizes the restroom for so long."

Ethan didn't contradict her.

He walked towards me, his gaze sweeping over my slightly hunched waist.

"If you're not feeling well, don't push yourself to come to a place like this."

His tone sounded concerned, but the underlying message was one of blame.

"Coming all the way to the snow mountains to suffer isn't good for anyone."

I looked at him.

He didn't know that I had no more hospitals to go to.

I wasn't here to suffer.

I was here to tie up loose ends for myself.

"Got it."

I walked around him, tossing the sealed bag into the medical waste bin at the end of the corridor.

Ethan went to the nearby drink stand to buy hot drinks.

He instinctively came back with two cups.

One he handed to Chloe, the other he brought towards me.

"Sugar-free hot soy milk."

He offered me the paper cup.

My stomach used to be sensitive, and I couldn't drink coffee or milk tea.

He would always buy me sugar-free soy milk.

But this time, I didn't even glance at it.

"I can't drink any of that now."

Most of my stomach had been removed.

Even a small amount of liquid food would cause severe nausea.

Ethan's hand froze in mid-air.

He seemed unprepared for my complete refusal.

Chloe smiled and walked over, naturally taking the cup of soy milk.

"Perfect, I'm thirsty. I'll drink it."

She linked her arm through Ethan's, leaning on his shoulder as if to stake her claim.

Ethan didn't push her away.

Watching this scene, I remembered when we first got married.

He had failed at his startup, and we were crammed into a basement apartment.

When the pipes froze in winter, I used a rice cooker to heat water for him to wash his hair.

I would be in so much pain from my stomach that I'd break into a cold sweat, yet I'd still save the only bowl of hot soup for him.

Back then, he held me and said,

"Once I make money, the first thing I'll do is take you to the Swiss Alps for skiing."

The Swiss Alps were never just a random choice for me; they were our shared promise.

Now he was indeed here, but with a different person by his side.

"Miss, are you alright?"

Martha, the cleaning lady at the visitor center, walked over.

She handed me a cup of warm plain water.

"I saw you were in there for quite a while. Drink some hot water to warm up."

"Thank you, Martha."

I took the cup, and finally, my palms had a little warmth.

The park broadcast began to repeat its announcement.

"Due to high winds at the summit today, parts of the North Slope boardwalk are temporarily closed. Please be aware of your safety."

I put down the water cup and walked towards the exit.

From behind, I heard Chloe's coy voice.

"Leo, don't get too close to that lady, she smells like a hospital."

Ethan didn't say anything.

I didn't look back, just crumpled the one-way ticket in my pocket tighter.

I didn't take the park's shuttle bus.

Instead, I took the local transfer bus down the mountain alone.

A thin layer of snow covered the streets of Pine Creek Town.

Following my phone's GPS, I found a storefront.

The sign above the door read: Hospice Support Center.

This wasn't a hospital.

It was a place where local community organizations lent medical equipment to seriously ill tourists and seniors.

Pushing open the door, the room was pleasantly warm.

The volunteer, a girl with glasses, approached me.

"Hi, what can I help you with?"

She handed me a registration form.

"I'd like to borrow a portable oxygen concentrator."

I gave her my ID card.

"And a pressure relief cushion, please."

The girl looked at my face, then at the faint outline around my waist.

She didn't ask any questions, just efficiently processed my request.

"Please fill in the emergency contact section."

She pointed to a blank line at the bottom of the form.

I held the pen, my hand pausing for a long time.

A scene from the day of my divorce three years ago flashed in my mind.

That day, I accompanied my mother for a follow-up gastroscopy.

Outside the glass window of the pediatric clinic, I saw Chloe.

She was skillfully filling out her child's birth information.

In the father's column, Ethan Miller's name was written.

The child's birth date perfectly aligned with the first year of my marriage with Ethan.

I stood in the corridor, holding my mother's gastroscopy report.

It felt like my life had been simultaneously condemned by two pieces of paper.

Later, I confronted Ethan.

He didn't deny it.

"I was under too much pressure back then, and Chloe and I had a few drinks."

He sat on the couch, his voice terrifyingly rational.

"Then she got pregnant, and I couldn't just let her handle it alone."

I asked him, what about me?

He was silent for a long time, then said something that disgusted me to this day.

"Rory, you've always been strong."

He took my understanding nature for granted, using it as a reason to sacrifice me.

He even offered me compensation.

A house, shares, savingsanything, as long as I agreed to divorce.

He thought money could solve betrayal.

I pulled my thoughts back, and wrote a single word on the form: None.

The volunteer looked at the word, frowning slightly.

"If you're traveling to the mountains alone, it's best to have someone who can be reached."

She reminded me softly.

I smiled, placing the pen back on the table.

After leaving the aid station, I went to the pharmacy in town.

"I'm really sorry, the specific model of ostomy baseplate you usually use is out of stock."

The store assistant, Sarah, searched through the shelves, apologizing to me.

"We only have this generic type; the adhesive might not be as strong."

"That's fine, I'll take two."

I paid the money.

Reality is always like this; even being sick doesn't allow you to have things your own way.

The small hotel room was quiet at night.

I sat at the small table, spreading out my medication boxes.

Only six painkillers were left.

Outside the window, the snow was falling even harder.

I looked at my blurred reflection on the glass.

Hairless, gaunt.

I set a time for myself.

Before sunrise tomorrow.

To reach the birch forest beyond the closed trail.

There would be no tourists there.

And no one would see my pathetic state.

At four in the morning, Pine Creek Town was still dark.

I put on my wig and tied on a thick scarf.

My medical kit, painkillers, and the last bit of cash were all packed into my backpack.

I didn't go to the front desk to check out.

I just left a note on the table.

"Please don't call the police. You can keep the deposit."

When I pushed open the hotel door, the cold wind, mixed with snowflakes, hit me in the face.

Mrs. Gable, the hotel owner, was an early riser, preparing to make porridge.

She saw me walking alone out of town, then went to check my room.

The note on the table and the oxygen concentrator's deposit slip made her face change.

She immediately called the community aid station.

The aid station checked my registration record and found no emergency contact.

They could only contact the park's rescue center as per regulations.

The rescue center used my phone's linked medical emergency card to retrieve an old emergency contact.

That number, I hadn't called in three years.

Ethan Miller received the unfamiliar call while having breakfast with his child at the hot springs hotel.

Chloe was carefully peeling an egg for Leo.

The voice on the other end was urgent.

"Excuse me, do you know Rory Hayes?"

"She headed alone towards the closed forest trail early this morning, it's very dangerous there due to high winds."

Ethan's first reaction wasn't concern.

He frowned, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"What is she stirring up now?"

He thought I was using this extreme method to get his attention.

Just like when I used to throw tantrums and run away from home.

Chloe stopped peeling the egg.

"Ethan, Leo has a snowmobile reservation at ten."

She reminded him softly, trying to redirect his attention.

Ethan hesitated for a few seconds.

But he still stood up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

"I'll be right back."

Chloe pulled at his sleeve.

"Are you going to abandon us to go find your ex-wife?"

For the first time, Ethan didn't explain himself to her.

"She's out there alone in the snow."

He only said that, then strode out of the restaurant.

I walked along the edge of the birch forest, the snow already past my ankles.

With every step, the pulling pain in my abdomen intensified.

I remembered the first time I had a stomach hemorrhage after our divorce three years ago.

That night, I was writhing on the ground in pain, and I called Ethan's number.

But it was Chloe who answered.

"Ethan's bathing the baby. Whatever it is, you can call back tomorrow."

She hung up after saying that.

In the end, I took a taxi to the emergency room by myself.

The doctor asked if I had any family.

I said no.

From that day on, I never called him again.

I leaned against a birch tree and swallowed two painkillers.

From the distance, I heard the barking of a dog in the snow.

Officer Ben, a rescue worker, scanning the registration photo sent by the aid station, suddenly stopped.

He turned and looked at Ethan Miller, who was following behind.

"Mr. Miller, you truly didn't know?"

Ethan's heart sank abruptly.

"Know what?"

The rescue worker handed him his phone.

On the screen was the medical condition note I had uploaded when borrowing the portable oxygen concentrator.

[Stage IV Stomach Cancer, abdominal metastasis, post-ostomy surgery, with drainage tube, warning of hypothermia and infection.]

In the howling wind and snow, Ethan stood frozen.