Advanced gastric cancer, giving up treatment.
I gave myself three months.
Three months to finish what needs to be done.
Three months to leave enough pension money for the people you care about.
For three months, he would be her fake husband.
She didn't know I was sick.
She thought I was just a paid tool until...
She would smile secretly because of my rejection, frown because of my weight loss, put the food she had eaten into my bowl and blush.
I thought I could hide it until the end.
Until the day the contract ended, she tore up the agreement and asked me: "What did you hide from me?"
I didn't say it.
Because that day, there was a critical illness notice from the hospital stuffed in the pocket of my white shirt.
