Chapter 1 The Grim Diagnosis

• "Ms. Steele, don't you have any family members with you today?"
• Zayla Steele found herself taken aback. Isn't this just a routine medical check-up? Do I really need a companion for this? Anyway, family members... what family do I have left? Her mother passed away after giving birth to her, her father treated her like a cash cow, and her brother harbored deep resentment towards her, blaming her for their mother's demise. As for her lover... he had no genuine love for her.
• The mere mention of the word "family" caught her off guard. She might have nearly forgotten the concept if it weren't for the doctor's sudden inquiry. After a brief moment of confusion, Zayla shook her head and replied, "I'm flying solo today."
• The doctor wrinkled his brows, adjusted the glasses perched on his nose, and sighed heavily. He looked at her sympathetically and helplessly as he passed a stack of test results to Zayla. "Ms. Steele, the results are in. It's late-stage stomach cancer." His demeanor reflected a deep empathy towards the young woman now facing a terminal illness at such a tender age, his words and actions carefully chosen.
• Zayla's breath hitched in her throat as she got the test report, her brows knitting together as she scanned the various metrics. Though not versed in medical jargon, she could discern the gravity of her stomach's condition. During the gastroscopy, a sense of unease had crept over her, a nagging suspicion that something was amiss, but she dared not dwell on it.
• The doctor gestured towards the X-ray images, explaining to Zayla. Her attention drifted, half grasping the details and half lost in thought. Eventually, the doctor summarized the situation, emphasizing the urgency of immediate chemotherapy.
• Zayla knew all too well how long she had left to live with advanced stomach cancer, having witnessed her grandfather's agonizing two-year battle before his eventual passing.
• The doctor suggested thoughtfully, "Ms. Steele, I strongly advise you to proceed with hospitalization for treatment without delay."
• "Will hospitalization… improve my condition?" Zayla croaked, her expression vacant, almost as if mumbling to herself. The doctor offered no further words, only a distressed shake of his head. At that moment, Zayla silently acknowledged her fate. She moistened her parched lips and rose, tucking the diagnosis papers into her bag. After thanking the doctor, she departed the examination room without looking backward.
• Emerging from the hospital, she was met with rain. The misty downpour, mingling with the biting wind, felt like icy blades against her skin. Zayla retrieved an umbrella from her bag, opening it in a vain attempt to shield herself from the elements. Despite her efforts, the rain persisted, and the umbrella offered little refuge from the chill.
• The temperature in March wasn't exceptionally frosty, yet Zayla felt an insidious coldness seeping into her bones. The relentless chill crept into her clothes, numbing her body. Her fingertips also reddened from the cold. Clutching the umbrella in one hand and balling the other into a fist in her pocket, she struggled to find warmth, but it eluded her grasp.
• Zayla ambled aimlessly, idly twisting the ring on her finger as she gazed at the somber clouds looming overhead. Rilmond's weather was known for its capricious nature. Before she could register it, spring had swept in with surprising swiftness. Spring was meant to herald new life and vitality. So why does it feel like my demise is looming closer with each passing moment?
• Standing by the road, Zayla hailed a taxi. As the cab pulled over, she methodically folded her umbrella, opened the back door, and settled into the car. The driver turned to her, inquiring, "Where to?"
• "Cedar Gardens, Berkewood," Zayla murmured softly, her head lowered. Zayla couldn't resist the urge to retrieve the diagnostic report from her bag and scrutinize the images within as the vehicle journeyed. The grotesque depiction of her twisted stomach seemed surreal, a frightening part of her own anatomy.
• Zayla's stomach cancer stemmed from a history of starvation. Throughout her four-year marriage to Joaquin Latham, she diligently prepared his favorite dishes, hoping to garner his affection. She envisioned him returning home to a table brimming with culinary delights. If she couldn't receive his genuine love, she yearned for even a semblance of tenderness from him.
• Yet, Joaquin showed no interest in sharing a meal with her, let alone dining together. Undeterred, she persisted in her daily culinary efforts, reaching out to him with messages and eagerly awaiting his homecoming. However, as time passed, she was diagnosed with stomach cancer before he ever returned to eat with her.
• Tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks uncontrollably. Zayla took a deep breath. She initially thought she was resilient and had suffered a lot. However, the façade of strength she had meticulously crafted crumbled today. Waves of agony rippled through her stomach, causing her to double over in pain, her tightly clenched jaw releasing a guttural moan.
• The driver heard the sound of sobbing from the backseat, glancing at the rearview mirror to see the woman hunched over, her fragile frame trembling as if she were struggling to breathe. He had never witnessed such profound despair. "Miss, what's troubling you? Did you go through a breakup, or are things not going well at work?"
• Receiving no immediate response, he pressed on, "Remember, there's no challenge too great to overcome. Keep your chin up. Tears won't solve anything. Head home, get some rest, and remember that tomorrow will bring a fresh start with the rising sun."
• Zayla lifted her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Thank you," she murmured, taken aback by the unexpected comfort from a stranger, especially after receiving such dire news.
• The driver offered a silent smile, focusing on the road ahead. After arriving at Berkewood, he pulled over. After a thirty-minute ride, the cab fare was twenty-eight. Zayla paid, then stepped out of the car, tearing the diagnosis paper in her hand and discarding it into a nearby trash can.
• A chill wind swept, prompting Zayla to wipe away the remnants of dried tears from her face. Once more, she assumed a composed and mature guise, her demeanor unchanged except for slightly swollen eyes and a pallid complexion.