Chapter 3

I don't even remember how I got to the hospital.

When I finally opened my eyes, a doctor was already standing over my bed, his voice urgent.

"Mr. Vance, you have severe gastrointestinal bleeding. It’s an emergency. We need your family to sign the consent forms for surgery immediately!"

I didn't want to call Kylie.

"Doctor... can't I just sign it myself?"

The doctor shook his head. "You are in critical condition. You cannot make these medical decisions alone."

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and dialed Kylie’s number.

The first few times, the call went through but was left unanswered. After that, her phone was turned off completely.

"What's taking so long? Where is your family?" the nurse urged.

I silently dialed her number over and over again.

The irony was unbearable. While Kylie was ignoring my life-or-death calls, she had just posted an update on Instagram.

The caption read: "Best friends for life! "

The picture showed the back of her and Robertson, clinking glasses at a cozy lounge.

I slowly lowered my phone and closed my eyes.

A few minutes later, Robertson sent me a Snapchat video.

In the video, on the bed I swept and made every single day, messy clothes were scattered all over the floor. Kylie and Robertson were snuggled up together under the same blanket.

To top it off, Robertson sent a text: "Hey Howard, is there something urgent? Kylie is exhausted. She’s already asleep."

I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

"We can't wait any longer. The bleeding is getting worse. Where is your wife?" the nurse pressed anxiously.

I shook my head. "No one is coming. My wife... she can't make it."

Hearing this, the nurse's annoyed expression instantly softened into shock and deep pity.

In the end, I signed the consent form myself and was wheeled into the operating room alone.

I had no idea how long the surgery took. But the moment I regained consciousness, my phone was buzzing non-stop.

I checked. It was Kylie.

Instead of calling her back, I blocked her number on every single app.

During my five days in the hospital, my bedside remained completely empty.

The nurse, unable to watch me suffer alone, helped me hire a private caregiver.

While tending to me, the caregiver gently asked, "Where is your family, dear?"

I stared blankly out the window.

"They're not here. It's a long flight, and they're getting old. I didn't want to worry them."

The caregiver patted my hand gently, saying nothing.

Suddenly, I missed home.

My fingers hovered over my phone, and I accidentally dialed my father's number.

The moment I realized what I had done, I hung up in a panic.

He was probably buried in work, trying to rebuild his business. I couldn't let him see me in this pathetic state.

A moment later, my father called back.

I swallowed my tears and let the phone ring until it went silent.

The day I was discharged, I rushed straight back to our apartment to pack my bags and leave.

But to my surprise, I ran into Robertson.