When the diagnostic report slipped from my hand, I heard someone crying quietly next to me.
It's not me who's crying. I raised my head and saw my mother covering her face and twitching her shoulders. My dad stood next to her, one hand on her shoulder, the other clenched into a fist with white knuckles.
"Mr. Shen, your test results are not very optimistic." The doctor's voice was very calm, as if he was broadcasting a weather forecast. "With advanced liver cancer, the cancer cells have spread, and surgery is of little significance. If you actively cooperate with the treatment, a conservative estimate is... Three to six months."
Three to six months.
I'm twenty-seven years old, I've just paid off my college loan, I just rented a decent house last month, and I still have half a box of strawberries I bought last night in the refrigerator.
"Mr. Shen? Did you hear that?"
"I heard it." I bent down to pick up the report on the ground, folded it and stuffed it into my pocket, "Three to six months, that's what you said."
The doctor frowned, probably he had never seen such a calm patient. He didn't say anything, just handed me a hospitalization slip, "I suggest you get admitted this week."
I took the order and nodded.
When I walked out of the clinic, people were coming and going in the corridor, and the smell of disinfectant made me dizzy. My mother was still crying, with tears running down her fingers. My father supported her, and the two of them walked very slowly.
I didn't wait for them.
