Chapter 8
My wedding with Alvaro took place in Italy. His family was incredibly kind–never once did they look down on my frail health. Instead, they constantly asked if I was doing well and if Alvaro ever bullied me.
“He wouldn’t dare.”
I glanced at Alvaro, who flashed me a smile, his eyes crinkling.
During my three–year hospital stay, I’d noticed this peculiar patient countless times.
It was Italy’s finest hospital, mostly housing those with complex medical conditions each face etched with the numbness of prolonged suffering.
But Alvaro sat unhurried in his wheelchair, unattended. When its wheels caught on a stone, he didn’t fuss.
Instead, he simply closed his eyes and basked leisurely in the sun.
The chemotherapy had pushed me to the brink of mental collapse, yet something about this blond–haired man glinting in the sunlight made my pain gradually ease.
He noticed me too.
“Hello-”
His English was fluent, almost accent–free.
“Could you give my wheels a push?”
08:14
Chapter 8
I stepped forward and adjusted his wheelchair.
He squinted, his green eyes crinkling into a bright smile.
“Thanks. Americans are so kind.”
Later, my side effects worsened until even leaving the hospital room. became impossible. I never saw him again.
Then one day, another patient in my room passed away.
Or rather, every single day I was hospitalized, people around me kept leaving.
That was a woman, young, with children and a husband.
Just yesterday she told me she wanted to go home once she recovered. Yet she was gone the very next day.
It was the first time I seriously considered ending my life.
As I stood by the window, an eerily familiar yet unfamiliar voice suddenly spoke from behind.
“Hello.”
I turned around. It was the blond–haired man.
He was still smiling, staring intently into my eyes for what felt like ages.
Just as I began to wonder if my appearance had frightened him…
He suddenly said, “Your eyes are truly beautiful. Are all Americans this pretty?”
I was stunned.
Chapter 8
My irises are naturally paler than most people’s, though it’s hard to notice. unless you look closely.
“Starting today, I’ll be your roommate.”
Compared to us, Alvaro remained so optimistic he hardly seemed ill.
I thought he was faking it.
Like those heirs in dramas, pretending to be disabled and playing weak to gain an advantage.
Until one stormy night, he clutched his legs, breathing in shallow gasps.
I pulled back the curtain..
He still smiled at me, but this time it looked strained.
“Sorry I woke you. Phantom limb pain.”
He quickly covered his legs with the blanket, as if hiding them.
But I’d already seen.
Those legs were covered in muscle, yet hung completely limp.
He said it was from an explosion–in Sicily, Italy, where daily riots happened.
“Especially for us in the mafia.”
I froze, saying he seemed too gentle to be a mafioso.
08.14
Chapter B
“Only with you.”
I stayed silent, unsure how to respond.
He glanced out the window: “The doctor said my leg needs a miracle.”
A miracle…
“For me, my family and children are my miracle.”
Whether from cold or emotion, he suddenly jolted.
You’re married?”
I nodded, thinking of my sweet kids, loving parents, and husband. A smile escaped me.
“I love them dearly.”
The man fell quiet–the first time I’d seen him without his usual smile.
His deep–set eyes and sharp features seemed strangely intimidating
without it.
After a long silence, he finally spoke: “You’re very strong.”
“From the first moment I saw your eyes, I knew you had the will to live.
That day, I’d planned to bask in the sun and never wake up.
But seeing your eyes made me feel I could hold on a little longer.”
“So, Margaret.
You must hold on too.
Chapter A
Wait for a miracle.”
After that day, he transferred hospitals without farewell, leaving only at phone number.
I never called.
Until returning home, I saw my husband entangled with Lilian, and our family portrait featuring a new woman.
For the first time, I realized how utterly alone I was.
My world had revolved around my family, old friends long lost, leaving only Lillian behind.
Now on the verge of collapse, I found my overwhelming grief had nowhere to go.
So I dialed that number for the first time.
Hearing that gentle voice again, I broke down sobbing. Words tumbled out in incoherent ramblings even I struggled to understand.
He didn’t interrupt, patiently listening through it all.
Then he asked:
“Will you marry me?”
