Chapter 5 Alone

• This was the man she loved. Even her romantic rival noticed her pale complexion, yet Joaquin remained oblivious. Joaquin wasn't an absentminded person. He could swiftly address work-related matters and sense Melanie's concerns. Yet, he lacked the patience or empathy for Zayla despite knowing her for six years.
• Drawing a deep breath, Zayla departed without glancing back, the rain outside getting heavier. With her head lowered, she trudged slowly. She was swiftly drenched in the downpour without an umbrella in her bag. She started feeling chills as the cold seeped into her bones, her once rosy lips now dry and cracked, her long, curly lashes soaked by the raindrops.
• Zayla felt a throbbing headache creeping in with the cold, her stomach twisted in knots. Instinctively, she reached to soothe her abdomen but inadvertently dislodged the ring from her finger. Staring at the once-shiny band now marred with black marks, Zayla recalled the day she and Joaquin formalized their engagement. She had casually remarked, "Since we're getting married, I should have a ring."
• Joaquin swiftly spent thirty on a modest ring from a roadside vendor, tossing it to her while remarking sarcastically, "Here. This is all you're worth."
• Zayla had merely smiled at the time, though her gaze was tinged with desolation. The ring was a size too small, chafing her skin and making her bleed, yet she persisted in wearing it, convinced it would eventually fit with time. Little did she anticipate it slipping off her finger one day, much like her affection for Joaquin waning.
• Curling up amidst the rainstorm, her stomach ablaze with pain, Zayla gagged twice, tears cascading uncontrollably down her cheeks, her eyes reddened from the agony.
• As the rain persisted, passersby unfurled their umbrellas. At the same time, Zayla huddled on the pavement, retrieved the ring, clasping it to her chest, awaiting relief from the tumult in her stomach before rising to her feet.
• Lost amidst the rain, Zayla stumbled into someone, jolting her back to her senses. Apologizing profusely, she found herself face to face with a young mother and a child, the woman's voice soft as she reassured Zayla, "It's okay."
• The child, peering up at Zayla's reddened eyes, asked gently, "Are you crying, miss?" The woman patted her child's head, casting an apologetic glance at Zayla, and led the child away. "Why is the lady crying? Is she scared?" With their backs turned, Zayla caught snippets of the child's query. "She's an adult. Why is she scared?" The patter of rain muffled their conversation.
• Cradling her stomach gently, Zayla tilted her head back to stop her tears. She pondered. Scared? How can I not be scared? Fear had gripped her when she ventured to the hospital alone, during the gastroscopy, and when the doctor summoned her to the room alone. When she received her terminal prognosis, her blood ran cold, and her body was consumed by an icy chill. Yet, more than anything, Zayla dreaded the prospect of facing death alone, without anyone by her side.