Goodbye to You All

Jessica fell silent.

She lowered her head, staring at the blood seeping from the back of her foot. Then, she glanced at Abby—unscathed and untouched.

Biting her lip, she forced herself to stay firm. "Can't you see? My foot is bleeding."

Only then did Jack notice the wound. His brows knitted slightly, and he stepped forward, intending to help her. But before he could, Abby's delicate voice, tinged with grievance, broke through the space between them.

"Jack, it's my fault. I shouldn't have looked at Jess's things. I knew she wouldn't like it… Just like yesterday, with the cake. I shouldn't have given it to her."

Her voice trembled, her shoulders shook, and in the next moment, she started convulsing, her breath becoming labored.

"Asthma medication. Take it first!" Jack's mind snapped back to the immediate crisis. He didn't have time to think about anything else—he rushed to grab Abby's medicine.

But it was too late. Abby, overcome with exaggerated distress, collapsed into his arms.

He caught her just in time and swiftly scooped her up. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

As they stepped out, they ran into Jessica's parents returning home.

One look at the mess inside, and the conclusion was drawn instantly.

"Abby's condition has worsened because of you! We won't forgive you for this!"

With a loud bang, the door slammed shut.

The living room was empty now, except for Jessica.

She clenched her jaw and tended to her own wound. Then, she picked up the scattered artwork, smoothed out the edges, and called a courier to have it framed again.

Once that was done, she left for the hospital for her own checkup.

The waiting dragged on. By the time the results came out, two hours had passed.

The doctor studied the report, sighed, and looked at her with an air of reluctant sympathy. "Your cancer cells are spreading. Medication alone won't be enough. You should consider hospitalization for chemotherapy. If you're lucky, you might have another year or two."

"No," she said. "I don't want to spend my last days in a hospital."

She took the test results, folded them neatly, and left the consultation room.

She had always feared chemotherapy. The thought of losing all her hair, of looking sickly and wretched—it scared her. No, she wasn't going to do that. Even on the day she died, she wanted to look beautiful.

As she stepped into the corridor, a voice caught her attention.

"Dr. Langston, I've paid you enough, haven't I?"

She paused mid-step. That voice was so familiar.

Moving back a little, she peered into the respiratory department's office.

There stood Abby.

But she wasn't the frail, pitiful girl she always pretended to be. She was upright and poised.

What is this?

Without hesitation, Jessica pulled out her phone and hit record.

Abby, oblivious, continued speaking to the doctor, her tone laced with condescension.

"You have no right to threaten me. At most, I've been faking an illness. But you? You've taken quite a lot of money from me, not to mention all the bribes from other patients' families. If I report you, you can say goodbye to your career. I also know you're running for the deputy director position. One mistake and it's over for you."

Jessica's fingers trembled around her phone and she nearly dropped it.

So… Abby's asthma had been fake all along. She wasn't sick at all.

She wanted to keep recording, to gather more evidence, but suddenly, a metallic taste of blood rose in her throat.

She turned, hastily making her way to the restroom.

Inside, she cupped cold water in her hands and splashed it over her face. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, hollow, exhausted.

The frequency was increasing. The blood she coughed up was more than before.

If it kept up like this, she wasn't sure if she'd even last a year.

She gritted her teeth, swallowing down the nausea, then reached into her bag for her medication. Her body curled against the cold tile floor as she waited for the pain to subside with her eyes shut tightly.

At that moment, Abby stepped into the restroom.

She halted, her gaze flickering with something unreadable. Then, as if sensing something off, she casually reached for the medical report sticking out of Jessica's bag.

She pulled it out, skimmed the contents, and then—

Her pupils dilated.

A slow, delighted smile curled on her lips.

"Jess… you have late-stage stomach cancer?"