He Wanted A Second Chance But was Denied

She had started staying in the hospital full-time and my life quickly revolved around her. I would wake up at dawn, my eyes burning from exhaustion and force myself to cook porridge before heading to work.

It became routine: arriving at the hospital, holding her hand for a few fleeting minutes before the day stole me away. Each morning, I watched her fragile form, pale and shrunken beneath the hospital sheets and silently promised myself that I would do whatever it took to keep her alive.

After work, I'd rush back, barely able to keep my eyes open, bringing dinner—carefully prepared meals that I hoped would bring her some comfort. Then, as night descended and the city quieted, I'd hurry off to open my street stall, working late into the night. I told myself that if I earned more, if I just pushed harder, the money would somehow turn into time—time for Lillian to survive.

But now, after seeing her at that restaurant, it all felt like a cruel joke. Each sleepless night, every sacrifice—nothing more than the desperate acts of a clown, performing for the amusement of Lillian and her rich friends.

I left the fancy restaurant in a haze, barely aware of the food van rumbling beneath me as I drove home. My body was on autopilot, but my mind was miles away, replaying the scene of her laughter, the way she had adjusted that man's tie. Her betrayal was woven into every mocking word I'd heard and it gnawed at me relentlessly.

When I finally arrived at my tiny rented apartment, I stumbled inside. The familiar scent of stale air greeted me, along with the sight of her medical report scattered across the table. I stared at the papers, reading and rereading the diagnosis: late-stage throat cancer. But now, it all seemed surreal, like I was trapped in a bad dream. I kept searching for something—anything—that would make it all make sense, to prove that what I'd witnessed wasn't real.

The dates, the attending doctor's notes, the prescriptions she claimed she was taking—everything was there, but none of it felt real anymore. The pieces of my life, of our life, were crumbling around me, leaving me gasping for air, drowning in a sea of betrayal. I dozed off on the couch, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion and when I woke up, it was 5 a.m.—the time I usually woke to cook for Lillian.

Instinctively, I grabbed my phone and ordered the cheapest porridge I could find from a nearby restaurant. It didn't matter anymore, not after everything I'd learned, but part of me still clung to the routine. When the delivery arrived, I made my way to the hospital.

When I reached Lillian's room, she lay there, eyes closed, her breathing soft. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. I placed the porridge on the table beside her and turned to leave, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the urge to confront her, to scream and demand answers. Maybe it was just the desire to see if I had imagined everything.

I circled back to her room and watched from a distance as her close-knit group of friends entered. They laughed, exchanging inside jokes and after a few minutes, they linked arms with Lillian, who was now sitting up, fully awake.

One of them sneered, "Wow, your boyfriend is even more dedicated than my housekeeper. When you're done playing with him, why not pass him on to me? I could use someone like him."

Another chimed in, eyeing the porridge I had left, "Mind if I taste the loving meal your boyfriend made? You wouldn't mind, would you?"

Lillian shot them a smirk, her voice cold and cutting. "As if I'd let you eat something a fool made. You might catch his stupidity."

They all erupted in laughter, their voices sharp and cruel. Each word chipped away at what little remained of my heart. It didn't hurt all at once, but the cracks formed deep, spreading out, breaking me piece by piece.

I couldn't take it anymore. I submitted my resignation that same day, sold my food van for whatever I could get and went straight to the education department with my teaching certification in hand. I didn't care where I ended up, as long as it was far away.

Within hours, I had bought a long-distance bus ticket, my departure set for that evening. As the bus rumbled through the night, my phone buzzed. Lillian's name flashed on the screen, her voice frantic when I answered, "Kenneth, where are you? Why didn't you come today? Did something happen to you?"

Her tone was filled with feigned concern, but I knew better now. I stared out the window, watching the dark countryside roll by, a stark contrast to the bustling city I had left behind. "Lillian, I'm tired," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

She started to speak again, but I cut her off. "I never minded going through hardships with you. If you were sick, I'd earn the money. No big deal if I had to spend all my savings. No big deal if I had to borrow. And if, in the end, we had to die together, well, it's just a life."

There was silence on the other end. I imagined her face, panic setting in as she realized I had seen through her charade.

"But why did you have to lie to me?" I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "You could throw around hundreds of thousands like it's nothing. Just how stupid was I to not see it?"

Her voice broke through the silence, desperate now. "Where are you? I'll come find you. You're selling food again, right? Stay there, I'm coming..." I could hear the panic rising in her tone and for a brief moment, I almost pitied her.

Her friends called after her, their laughter still echoing in the background. "Lillian, aren't we going out to see some handsome guys tonight? That boyfriend of yours won't be coming this time."

"Shut up!" she snapped, her voice sharp. Then, softer, back to me. "Kenneth, let's sit down and talk. I'll be honest about everything."

But it was too late. As the rising sun began to cast its first light over the barren landscape, I exhaled slowly, feeling a strange sense of peace.

"The road ends here, Lillian. It's over."

I hung up, blocking her number and leaned back in my seat. I watched the sun rise, casting away the shadows of the night. This was my new beginning, my farewell to the past.

Life in the mountains was harsher than I had anticipated. I arrived with the intention of teaching right away, thinking that the peaceful, remote setting would offer me a fresh start. Instead, on the first day, as I was making my way to the school, a middle-aged woman blocked my path.

"City boy, got a girlfriend yet? How about you keep me company?" Her voice was thick with a crude undertone and her eyes roved over me like I was some kind of prize to be won. I froze for a moment, startled by her boldness.

The surrounding villagers, instead of intervening, burst into raucous laughter. It was loud, vulgar and unsettling. I could feel their eyes on me, their amusement growing at my discomfort. The few other volunteer teachers who had come with me stood awkwardly in the background, avoiding eye contact. I could see the fear in their faces—they didn't want to get involved.

Seeing no one stepping in to help, the woman seemed to grow bolder. She leaned in closer, her breath hot and unpleasant. "You don't know how many people want to be with me. Stick with me and you'll have it better than suffering in this place." Her rough hand reached out, ready to grab me.

Panic surged through me, but before I could react, a pair of hands grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the circle of villagers.

"Come on, folks, you can't just ruin a nice young man like him!" a woman's voice called out behind me.

The crowd quieted, their laughter fading as they reluctantly backed off. The woman who had intervened didn't let go of my hand and led me away, toward the school building. I glanced back to see the middle-aged woman glaring at us, but she didn't follow.

"Are you stupid?" my savior said as she finally let go of my arm. "If something feels wrong, you need to leave fast." Her voice was sharp, but not unkind. "The mountains aren't like the city. Sometimes, the law doesn't reach here. If you want to stay safe, the first rule is: trust no one but yourself."

I nodded stiffly, still shaken from the encounter. She laughed—a loud, uninhibited sound that contrasted with the tension that had just filled the air.

"You still look just as gullible as before," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I might have exaggerated a bit, but there's one more thing: you can trust me."

I blinked, unsure of how to respond. I hesitated, then nodded again, dazed by the whirlwind of events.