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Chapter 8
Two days after my parents left, Ethan arrived.
Thick overcoat, furrowed brow. I ignored him, so he waited from dawn until dusk.
Only after all the students had gone home did he approach to speak with me.
“Why aren’t you getting proper treatment?”
I turned to ask him:
“Who says I’m not?”
He seemed choked by my response, paused, then asked:
“This place is so poor. How can you get treated here?”
I replied calmly:
“The city isn’t far. I can afford a plane ticket.”
His voice sounded rough, almost incomprehensible:
“Why put yourself through this?”
I turned to look at him. Though we’d known each other for years, he suddenly seemed like a stranger.
“What else should I do? Wait around to die?”
Ethan’s expression was complicated.
“Olivia, your tongue has sharpened considerably.”
Hmph—“Yeah, might die any day now. Don’t want to take any more crap.”
I walked away with large strides. Ethan didn’t follow.
But in the days that followed, I kept glimpsing his figure around.
It was irritating, honestly.
As it happened, that day I was scheduled to go to the city hospital for a follow–up.
The journey alone felt liberating, the heavy cloud that had settled in my chest somehow lifting.
After a series of examinations, the doctor scolded me for waiting so long before coming in. I smiled apologetically.
If I had seamlessly transitioned from one desperate situation to another, I think the psychological pressure might have crushed me.
I just needed to escape that humiliating environment. If death came, so be it. At least I was happy now.
The doctor said based on the current diagnosis, the situation wasn’t too severe. Surgery needed to happen quickly, but optimistically, a full recovery was possible.
I had no objection and was admitted immediately.
After arranging my bed, the nurse asked:
“No family members accompanying you?”
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Chapter 8
I didn’t hesitate before shaking my head.
“No, just me.”
But on my second day in the hospital, I saw Blake hesitating outside my room.
It felt like ages since I’d seen him. I politely greeted him, which made him awkward, his attitude becoming stiff.
“Olivia, about everything before–I misunderstood you. I’ve looked into things more carefully. I was too impulsive and hurt you. I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
“I accept your apology, but I won’t forgive you.”
His eyes grew serious, and he simply said:
“Okay…”
For the two days before my surgery, he hung around my hospital room, calling it “penance.”
But I knew he was just trying to ease his guilty conscience.
Men are fickle by nature, easily moved by weakness, quick to switch sides.
Still, I looked him straight in the eye and said:
“Seeing you makes me sick. It’s not good for my condition. Besides, you’re a ticking time bomb here. If your precious girl shows up again, everything will explode, and in my emotionally unstable state, my condition might worsen and I could die. Then I’d become a vengeful ghost, haunting you both for eternity, never giving you peace.*
“So please, just go. Consider it your act of mercy toward me.”
He opened his mouth but said nothing.
After that, he disappeared.
But as they wheeled me into surgery, I thought I glimpsed several familiar faces–dozens of small, familiar figures came rushing toward me.
“Ms. Foster!”
I strained to look, rubbed my eyes, and checked again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Oh! It was my students! They’d come to see me!
The surgery was a success.
The anesthesia hadn’t fully worn off when I heard chattering voices around me. Instinctively, I called out:
“Little mouths-”
The response was deafening:
“QUIET!”
I startled awake, eyes flying open in alarm.
Seeing me conscious, the principal quickly called for the attending physician.
After confirming I was in good condition, she relaxed visibly.
I felt genuinely happy. They were beside me, and I felt completely safe.
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I wasn’t without family after all. Every child here was my beloved family member.
I didn’t ask how they’d managed to come. I simply enjoyed their boisterous company.
Unfortunately, they could only stay for two or three days.
When it was time to say goodbye, there were tears everywhere. I wanted to rip out my IV and go with them, but wishful thinking couldn’t overcome reality. I could only make promises that we would meet again.
For the rest of my recovery period, I hired four caregivers to attend to all my needs.
The doctor remarked that it was fortunate I’d come in early, catching the cancer cells in their earliest stage.
I vaguely recalled that miserable night when I collapsed on the street.
Wasn’t that a blessing in disguise?
On the day I was cleared for discharge, Without hesitation, I bought a plane ticket straight back to my students in the mountains.
The familiar dirt schoolyard, the children spotting me from a distance–their excited shouts rolled one after another.
“MS. FOSTER IS BACK! MS. FOSTER IS BACK!”
Cheering and jumping, they surrounded me completely.
I smiled softly.
The principal approached with her own welcoming smile.
I thought to myself, this is a good life.
I didn’t need to chase after meaningless outcomes or wound myself for feelings that weren’t worth it.
Doing the right thing, in the right place–my heart felt completely full.
The chaotic past seemed like another lifetime.
I held my textbook, dreaming with the children about their boundless futures.
This, I thought, is enough.
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