Even After Death

On the day Olivia Fordham was diagnosed with stomach cancer, her husband, Ethan Miller, was caring for his first love's children. Their child died in the womb. Their family was ruined, but he now had a family with someone else. It was time for all this to be over. She no longer begged him like before. Instead, she said weakly, “Ethan, let's get a divorce.” But her story is far from over; it's only just beginning.

Even After Death

On the day Olivia Fordham was diagnosed with stomach cancer, her husband, Ethan Miller, was caring for his first love's children. Their child died in the womb. Their family was ruined, but he now had a family with someone else. It was time for all this to be over. She no longer begged him like before. Instead, she said weakly, “Ethan, let's get a divorce.” But her story is far from over; it's only just beginning.

The sterile scent of disinfectant clung to Olivia Fordham, a harsh contrast to the bleak news echoing in the hospital corridor. Dr. Rogers, his face grim, held the biopsy report. "Olivia, the results are out. If the surgery is successful, the five-year survival rate for a 3A malignant tumor is 15 to 30 percent."

Her slender fingers tightened around the strap of her sling bag, her petite face pale and solemn. Outside, rain began to fall, mirroring the storm brewing within her. "Keith, how long do I have left to live if I don't do the surgery?"

"Six months to a year. It's different for everyone. In your case, it's better to do two rounds of chemotherapy first before the surgery. It will prevent the risk of the tumor spreading or undergoing metastasis."

Olivia bit her lip, a silent battle raging. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'll arrange for you to be admitted to the hospital right away," Keith urged, his concern evident. But Olivia shook her head, a fragile defiance in her eyes.

"There's no need. I don't plan to receive treatment. I won't be able to get through it."