Since that day, my condition had deteriorated rapidly. I often lay in bed, only to vomit black blood.

Ainsley, unable to bear my suffering any longer, repeatedly urged me to undergo surgery. If I had the operation, at least I would have a few more years to live.

I shook my head with a bitter smile. “There’s no need. Even with surgery, I’d only gain another five years, at most. What’s the point of intervening when the outcome is already known?”

Ainsley sat by my bedside, tears streaming down his face. “Irie, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault for not taking better care of you. If Mr. Hancock were still...