Lillian was diagnosed with late-stage throat cancer. To ensure she could receive treatment in peace, I started setting up a street stall after work every day.

After finally saving enough money for her initial treatment, I wanted to surprise her, only to stumble upon her dining with a young man at a fancy restaurant.

Her best friend teased her, "How long are you going to keep up this act? Aren't you afraid that once you're exposed, your boyfriend will break up with you?"

Lillian smiled charmingly, "I'm just playing with him because he's so dumb. Who would've thought he'd take it seriously? But being dumb has its perks. He can deal with boring job and he doesn't get in the way of me finding other handsome guys..."

Dumb?

It turned out that all my heartfelt concern was just a synonym for 'dumb' in her eyes. After realizing this, I immediately resigned from my job and volunteered for rural teaching. Yet she stubbornly came looking for me, clutching my hand, refusing to let go and pleading, "Don't... don't leave me..."

——

Lillian had always seemed concerned about the long hours I put into the street stall. It wasn't just the work itself, but the toll it was clearly taking on me. She'd often sit on the couch, watching me with worried eyes as I came home late at night, exhausted but determined to keep going.

"How much money can you even make from a little stall?" she'd ask, her tone half-scolding, half-pleading. Her voice was hoarse, a reflection of her illness, but the frustration in it was unmistakable. "Your health is the most important. What's the point of doing all this if you wear yourself out?"

I'd always brush off her concern, forcing a smile to ease her worry, even though I knew deep down she had a point. "A penny's still money," I'd say, trying to lighten the mood. "You're the patient here, so focus on taking your meds and getting good sleep. I'm used to rough living; my body can handle it."

But no matter how hard I tried to sound convincing, I could see the way her face would fall. Lillian would grow quiet, her lips pressing together as if she wanted to say something but didn't know how. Her eyes, always so bright despite her illness, would cloud with sadness. She'd stare at the floor or out the window, her voice dropping to a soft, almost broken tone.

"You're not handling this, you're just pushing yourself too hard," she'd say. "Cut yourself some slack. You're human, just like everyone else. Just let me..."

I knew where she was going with that sentence and the very thought of it sent a chill down my spine. The fear of losing her, the idea that she could give up—on me, on herself—was something I couldn't bear. My heart would race and before she could say the word I dreaded, I'd rush over and cover her mouth with my hand, silencing her.

One day, after leaving the hospital, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand—opening my street stall like I did every evening. The process was mechanical by now: set up the tables, light the burners and start cooking.

The familiar sizzle of the frying pan, the aroma of grilled meats and stir-fried vegetables—this routine had become my solace. For a few hours, I could forget the weight pressing on my chest, the constant worry gnawing at me from the inside.

That evening, business was better than usual. People lined up for their favorite dishes and I sold out in just three hours. My last portion was for a regular customer, a young guy who worked at a nearby restaurant. As I packed up, I decided to deliver the food to him personally since it was on my way. After that, I planned to stop by the supermarket to pick up some discounted vegetables—something soft and easy for Lillian to digest.

But as I neared the restaurant, something caught my eye. Across the street, at one of the upscale bistros, I saw a familiar figure. I froze, my hand tightening around the bag of food as my stomach twisted.

It was Lillian. She should've been resting in her hospital bed, recovering from her latest round of treatment. Instead, she was here, at this fancy restaurant, smiling and laughing as she adjusted the tie of a young man sitting across from her.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from them. Lillian, who always looked pale and frail around me, now seemed vibrant, full of energy. She was handing the man a watch—one I couldn't even dream of affording. It glistened under the restaurant's warm lighting, a stark contrast to the modest life we had been living.

The man's eyes lit up as he accepted the gift. "This is the latest from Cartier! Thank you, Lillian. You're amazing." His voice was full of excitement, oblivious to everything else around him.

Lillian's best friend, who sat next to her, laughed and leaned in. "How long are you going to keep up this act?" she teased, her tone dripping with amusement. "Aren't you afraid that once he finds out, your boyfriend will break up with you?"

Lillian chuckled softly, her voice light and carefree, as if the weight of cancer, of our struggles, didn't exist. "I'm just playing with him," she replied, her words stabbing into me like knives. "He's so dumb. Who would've thought he'd take it seriously? But being dumb has its perks. He handles all the boring stuff and he doesn't get in the way of me finding someone... better."

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind reeling. Dumb? Was that what she thought of me? That all my sacrifices, the sleepless nights, the endless hustling to scrape together money for her treatment, was just the work of a fool?

My breath caught in my throat and a bitter chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. Dumb? I had heard that word before. It echoed in my mind, taking me back to when my parents died and my relatives swooped in like vultures, pretending to care. They only wanted the house, the little bit of inheritance my parents had left behind. They passed me around like a burden, tossing me from one home to the next, until they finally took everything and abandoned me.

I had survived on scraps, almost starved to death before the village head took pity on me. Welfare was my lifeline, barely enough to keep me alive, but enough to remind me that I was nothing more than a weed, surviving in the cracks of life, unnoticed and unwanted.

But I clawed my way out. I got myself into university, the one thing I thought would change my life for the better. Yet fate had other plans. In my third year, just before my final exams, I broke my leg. It was the worst timing imaginable. I limped toward the exam hall, but before I could make it, I fell again, re-injuring myself.

I knew then that my chances of continuing my studies were slipping away. The scholarship I had hoped for was gone and as I lay there on the cold pavement, people walked past without a second glance. I was just an obstacle in their day, an insect in the way.

But then she appeared. Lillian. She stopped, reached out her hand and smiled. "I'm not very strong, so pull gently," she had said, her voice soft and sweet, like a lifeline in the darkness. I had thought she was different, like me—someone struggling to survive, someone who understood what it meant to be at the bottom.

Our worlds intertwined after that. We became inseparable. She joined me in my part-time jobs, shared my worries, my dreams. We were the "weird duo" in university—too poor to hang out with the others, but we didn't care. We were rich in spirit, or so I thought.

After graduation, we rented a small apartment, barely big enough for the two of us. But we were happy—or at least, I was. I worked day and night, dreaming of saving enough to start a family, to build a life where we wouldn't be caught off guard by fate again. I even thought about kids someday, imagining a future where things finally went right.

But then, Lillian got sick. Cancer. Stage four. The doctors were grim and my world came crashing down. I threw every penny I had into her treatment, sold everything I could, took on even more jobs, hoping I could somehow save her. I cried in secret, broke down more times than I could count. I even thought about ending it all, but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving her alone to suffer.

She had started staying in the hospital full-time and my life quickly revolved around her. I would wake up at dawn, my eyes burning from exhaustion and force myself to cook porridge before heading to work.

It became routine: arriving at the hospital, holding her hand for a few fleeting minutes before the day stole me away. Each morning, I watched her fragile form, pale and shrunken beneath the hospital sheets and silently promised myself that I would do whatever it took to keep her alive.

After work, I'd rush back, barely able to keep my eyes open, bringing dinner—carefully prepared meals that I hoped would bring her some comfort. Then, as night descended and the city quieted, I'd hurry off to open my street stall, working late into the night. I told myself that if I earned more, if I just pushed harder, the money would somehow turn into time—time for Lillian to survive.

But now, after seeing her at that restaurant, it all felt like a cruel joke. Each sleepless night, every sacrifice—nothing more than the desperate acts of a clown, performing for the amusement of Lillian and her rich friends.

I left the fancy restaurant in a haze, barely aware of the food van rumbling beneath me as I drove home. My body was on autopilot, but my mind was miles away, replaying the scene of her laughter, the way she had adjusted that man's tie. Her betrayal was woven into every mocking word I'd heard and it gnawed at me relentlessly.

When I finally arrived at my tiny rented apartment, I stumbled inside. The familiar scent of stale air greeted me, along with the sight of her medical report scattered across the table. I stared at the papers, reading and rereading the diagnosis: late-stage throat cancer. But now, it all seemed surreal, like I was trapped in a bad dream. I kept searching for something—anything—that would make it all make sense, to prove that what I'd witnessed wasn't real.

The dates, the attending doctor's notes, the prescriptions she claimed she was taking—everything was there, but none of it felt real anymore. The pieces of my life, of our life, were crumbling around me, leaving me gasping for air, drowning in a sea of betrayal. I dozed off on the couch, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion and when I woke up, it was 5 a.m.—the time I usually woke to cook for Lillian.

Instinctively, I grabbed my phone and ordered the cheapest porridge I could find from a nearby restaurant. It didn't matter anymore, not after everything I'd learned, but part of me still clung to the routine. When the delivery arrived, I made my way to the hospital.

When I reached Lillian's room, she lay there, eyes closed, her breathing soft. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. I placed the porridge on the table beside her and turned to leave, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the urge to confront her, to scream and demand answers. Maybe it was just the desire to see if I had imagined everything.

I circled back to her room and watched from a distance as her close-knit group of friends entered. They laughed, exchanging inside jokes and after a few minutes, they linked arms with Lillian, who was now sitting up, fully awake.

One of them sneered, "Wow, your boyfriend is even more dedicated than my housekeeper. When you're done playing with him, why not pass him on to me? I could use someone like him."

Another chimed in, eyeing the porridge I had left, "Mind if I taste the loving meal your boyfriend made? You wouldn't mind, would you?"

Lillian shot them a smirk, her voice cold and cutting. "As if I'd let you eat something a fool made. You might catch his stupidity."

They all erupted in laughter, their voices sharp and cruel. Each word chipped away at what little remained of my heart. It didn't hurt all at once, but the cracks formed deep, spreading out, breaking me piece by piece.

I couldn't take it anymore. I submitted my resignation that same day, sold my food van for whatever I could get and went straight to the education department with my teaching certification in hand. I didn't care where I ended up, as long as it was far away.

Within hours, I had bought a long-distance bus ticket, my departure set for that evening. As the bus rumbled through the night, my phone buzzed. Lillian's name flashed on the screen, her voice frantic when I answered, "Kenneth, where are you? Why didn't you come today? Did something happen to you?"

Her tone was filled with feigned concern, but I knew better now. I stared out the window, watching the dark countryside roll by, a stark contrast to the bustling city I had left behind. "Lillian, I'm tired," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

She started to speak again, but I cut her off. "I never minded going through hardships with you. If you were sick, I'd earn the money. No big deal if I had to spend all my savings. No big deal if I had to borrow. And if, in the end, we had to die together, well, it's just a life."

There was silence on the other end. I imagined her face, panic setting in as she realized I had seen through her charade.

"But why did you have to lie to me?" I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "You could throw around hundreds of thousands like it's nothing. Just how stupid was I to not see it?"

Her voice broke through the silence, desperate now. "Where are you? I'll come find you. You're selling food again, right? Stay there, I'm coming..." I could hear the panic rising in her tone and for a brief moment, I almost pitied her.

Her friends called after her, their laughter still echoing in the background. "Lillian, aren't we going out to see some handsome guys tonight? That boyfriend of yours won't be coming this time."

"Shut up!" she snapped, her voice sharp. Then, softer, back to me. "Kenneth, let's sit down and talk. I'll be honest about everything."

But it was too late. As the rising sun began to cast its first light over the barren landscape, I exhaled slowly, feeling a strange sense of peace.

"The road ends here, Lillian. It's over."

I hung up, blocking her number and leaned back in my seat. I watched the sun rise, casting away the shadows of the night. This was my new beginning, my farewell to the past.

Life in the mountains was harsher than I had anticipated. I arrived with the intention of teaching right away, thinking that the peaceful, remote setting would offer me a fresh start. Instead, on the first day, as I was making my way to the school, a middle-aged woman blocked my path.

"City boy, got a girlfriend yet? How about you keep me company?" Her voice was thick with a crude undertone and her eyes roved over me like I was some kind of prize to be won. I froze for a moment, startled by her boldness.

The surrounding villagers, instead of intervening, burst into raucous laughter. It was loud, vulgar and unsettling. I could feel their eyes on me, their amusement growing at my discomfort. The few other volunteer teachers who had come with me stood awkwardly in the background, avoiding eye contact. I could see the fear in their faces—they didn't want to get involved.

Seeing no one stepping in to help, the woman seemed to grow bolder. She leaned in closer, her breath hot and unpleasant. "You don't know how many people want to be with me. Stick with me and you'll have it better than suffering in this place." Her rough hand reached out, ready to grab me.

Panic surged through me, but before I could react, a pair of hands grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the circle of villagers.

"Come on, folks, you can't just ruin a nice young man like him!" a woman's voice called out behind me.

The crowd quieted, their laughter fading as they reluctantly backed off. The woman who had intervened didn't let go of my hand and led me away, toward the school building. I glanced back to see the middle-aged woman glaring at us, but she didn't follow.

"Are you stupid?" my savior said as she finally let go of my arm. "If something feels wrong, you need to leave fast." Her voice was sharp, but not unkind. "The mountains aren't like the city. Sometimes, the law doesn't reach here. If you want to stay safe, the first rule is: trust no one but yourself."

I nodded stiffly, still shaken from the encounter. She laughed—a loud, uninhibited sound that contrasted with the tension that had just filled the air.

"You still look just as gullible as before," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I might have exaggerated a bit, but there's one more thing: you can trust me."

I blinked, unsure of how to respond. I hesitated, then nodded again, dazed by the whirlwind of events.