My husband was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer.

I begged the doctor to change the diagnosis report to mid-stage and spent all our savings on his treatment.

After my husband recovered, he held his mistress and forced me out of the house, demanding to split the only property my mother left me.

He said, "You jinx, get out of my sight."

Later, he poisoned me and my unborn child with fake alcohol.

When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day the report came out.

His family gathered around me asking questions, and I suppressed a smile, "The doctor said there's no hope."

His mom, Iris Bell, looked disbelieving, repeatedly checking the report, then dragged me to find the doctor to clarify.

The doctor said, "The patient's condition is not optimistic, but it isn't entirely hopeless.

As long as you give the patient positive beliefs and actively cooperate with treatment, it is possible to be fully cured if he survives the five-year mark."

As soon as we left the office, Iris, without saying a word, raised her trembling hand and slapped me hard.

While hitting me, she said.

"I told you to take good care of my son, and this is how you do it? Now he has cancer. If he dies, I want you to pay with your life."

"You're a jinx. My son was healthy before, and you made him like this."

"You're just like your mother, a dirty curse on this world."

The doctor saw and hurriedly pulled me away.

Back in the ward, the person next to us asked why my face was so swollen.

My husband, Nathan Carter, didn't show any concern or ask what happened. He smiled and explained it to the person.

"It's nothing. She probably didn't listen to my mom and deserved it. Looks like my mom held back this time."

The person looked at me with sympathy and said, "No matter what she did wrong, you shouldn't hit her."

Nathan waved dismissively, "She's the dog we keep. I'll hit her whenever I want."

Nathan's words felt like a slap to my face. Only then did I realize how wrong I had been.

They say a day's couplehood creates a hundred days of grace.

In the previous life, Nathan's good friend was diagnosed with late-stage cancer and died in less than a month.

He was so shocked when he found out that it took him a long time to recover.

When I found out Nathan had late-stage stomach cancer, I, with weakened legs, knelt in the doctor's office, crying and begging them to change the cancer report to give him hope for treatment.

After kneeling for three days, the doctor couldn't bear it anymore and customized a special pathology report for my husband.

The report changed the original diagnosis from 14 lymph node metastases and positive nerve invasion vascular infiltration to 1 lymph node metastasis and negative nerve invasion vascular infiltration.

The modified pathology report indicated mid-stage stomach cancer, which was operable and had a low recurrence rate.

Iris was impatient. I feared she couldn't handle it and would ruin my plan, so I kept it from her.

To take care of Nathan wholeheartedly, I quit my promising career at a well-known enterprise, devoted myself to collecting information on stomach cancer and treatment methods, and carefully attended to his daily needs.

From prolonged lack of rest, my face turned dark, my skin dried out, and I aged ten years compared to my peers.

Meanwhile, under my meticulous care, Nathan's condition improved, his complexion became rosy, and he was full of energy.

The doctor instructed him not to drink, so I hid all the alcohol at home. He went mad, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head against the wall.

Blood poured from my forehead, staining the white wall like graffiti.

It was so much pain that I knelt and begged him.

He clapped his hands and said, "Today, I'll show you who's the boss."

I finally realized that my husband was taking revenge on me for forcing him to undergo chemotherapy and suffer.

When Iris found out, not only did she not help me, but she also thought I brought it on myself.

With the painful lessons from my previous life, I wouldn't foolishly give my all again this time.

The attending doctor of the patient in the next bed came in, pulling me back from my thoughts.

The doctor said that the patient in the next bed had mid-stage stomach cancer, and they all fell into depression.

When Nathan heard this, he ate the apple I had just peeled for him and shamelessly sneered, "Huh, another unlucky person."

The person in the next bed heard this and angrily retorted, "Look at you, you're not any better off. Yours might be late-stage."

Nathan spat out an apple peel, scratched his head, pointed at me, and thought for a moment. "Do I have chronic gastritis or... what?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding uncontrollably, and added as calmly as possible, "Late-stage stomach cancer."

With a "thud," Nathan collapsed to the floor from the side of the bed.

Iris had just entered the room. When she saw this scene, she rushed in, grabbed Nathan's hand, and kicked me in the waist.

"Are your eyes just for decoration? How could you let my son sit on the floor?"

Iris tried hard to pull Nathan up, but she couldn't move him at all.

Iris squatted down and kept asking Nathan what had happened.

It took Nathan a long time to speak.

"Mom, do I have late-stage stomach cancer? Am I going to die?"

"Mom, I don't want to die. Can you donate your stomach to me?"

Iris stood up straight, glaring at me while pinching the flesh on my arm. "How dare you talk nonsense! If my son needs a stomach, I'll be the first to take yours."

I was no longer the weak and submissive person I had been in my previous life. As soon as she touched me, I squatted down and covered my head, shouting, "Mom, I'm sorry, please don't hit me."

Passersby, doctors, and patients all looked in, and only then did Iris awkwardly let go of me, forcing a smile. "I usually treat her very well."

The surrounding people gave knowing looks.

She had no choice but to turn and comfort Nathan, "My dear, you're fine. She is the one with late-stage stomach cancer."

It took a long time for Nathan to calm down.

I pretended to take a few days off from work.

In the following days, Nathan didn't ask about his condition and continued to follow the doctor's treatment plan.

Every day, he endured endless blood draws, medications, injections, quit smoking and drinking, and ate a bland diet.

By the seventh day, Nathan couldn't take it anymore.

As I was about to finish work, he asked me to bring him some cigarettes and alcohol.

In my previous life, when he was hospitalized and craved cigarettes and alcohol, he would sneak out to buy them.

When I found out and tried to stop him, he beat me publicly until I vomited blood.

Iris found out and blamed me for mistreating her son, saying, "What's wrong with drinking a little? A man who doesn't smoke or drink isn't a real man."

Thinking of this, I bought five bottles of the best liquor Nathan wouldn't splurge on and two packs of high-strength cigarettes, secretly bringing them to the hospital room.

Seeing the cigarettes and alcohol, Nathan perked up. After sneaking into the bathroom to smoke a pack, his appetite seemed to return.

He asked me to buy some spicy and sour appetizers and pig's head meat. He drank and ate happily.

While Nathan was eating, Iris came in with a lunch box along with the nurse on duty.

The nurse smelled the smoke and alcohol and scolded him loudly, "You're sick, and you're still smoking and drinking? Do you have a death wish?"

After the nurse left, Iris went up to comfort him and said, "Just bear with it for now. Once you're discharged, you can eat whatever you want."

Then she turned to me and said, "Are you dead? How could you let him smoke and drink? Are you trying to kill him?"