Perishing in Her Least Loving Moment

Part 2

It was close to midnight by the time I made it back to the hospital. As I stepped out of the taxi, I looked up and saw a slender figure standing under the dim glow of the streetlight, next to a black wheelchair.

Claire had clearly been waiting for me for a long time. Her face, lit by the pale light, looked tired and tense as she fidgeted with her phone.

The moment she saw me, she quickly switched off the screen and marched over, her expression stormy.

"You said three hours, William. I've been covering for you, keeping the attending physician in the dark about your little adventure, but here you are, breaking your promise again."

I stared at her, unable to respond, feeling the weight of her words press down on me. Maybe my face gave away more than I intended.

She stopped in front of me, her brow furrowing as she took a closer look. "What happened? Your eyes are all red—have you been crying?"

That question undid me. The pain I had been holding in suddenly found an escape.

When I opened my mouth, my voice cracked, rough and barely audible.

"I saw Jasmin today... She's getting married."

Claire's expression shifted, caught between disbelief and sympathy.

She was the only one who knew the whole story—how Jasmin had disappeared several times since I'd gotten sick.

The first time, Claire had mocked me.

"Are you serious? You're this sick and still clinging to her? What if she just never comes back?"

I had refused to believe it. "No, Jasmin wouldn't do that. I know her. She wouldn't leave me, not now."

Claire had scoffed, tapping her knuckles against my headboard, her smile sharp and cynical.

"This is the ICU. Even families who are tied by blood fall apart over things like this, let alone couples."

I ignored her, swallowing the bitter pills she handed me without a word.

She left, frustrated by my stubborn silence.

But the very next morning, she had to eat her words.

The knocking on the door was loud and insistent, waking Claire from her night shift nap. She later told me, "I thought it was some homeless person banging on the door."

There, disheveled and exhausted, stood Jasmin—her clothes old and worn, her hair streaked with dirt and dust. She looked half-embarrassed, half-apologetic, casting a glance at me in the ICU as she spoke to Claire.

"I picked up some odd jobs these past few days. I managed to scrape together some money and made a payment toward his medical bills."

She pulled out crumpled bills from her pocket, her voice faltering as she added, "I still have a bit left. Doctor, please look after William when I'm not here. We won't fall behind on the payments, I promise."

Claire had stood silent for a long moment before she answered, her voice clipped.

"Don't worry. He's my first critical patient. I won't let him die on my watch."

Later, Claire found Jasmin's name on the list of volunteers for the hospital's clinical trials.

When she rushed to the lab, Jasmin was already in line, waiting to have her blood drawn.

Claire pulled her out of the line. "I've already applied for aid from the hospital's charity program for William. You don't need to do this!"

Jasmin had looked up at her, her gaze distant, her lips pale.

"The factory still hasn't paid me... I'm afraid it won't be enough..."

When Claire checked Jasmin's bag, she found multiple registration forms—Jasmin had been participating in several trials, overworking her body in the process.

Claire dragged Jasmin to my bedside, where we broke down in each other's arms. Afterward, she scolded her harshly.

"He's sick. If you collapse too, who's going to take care of him?"

I had cupped Jasmin's face, my thumbs gently brushing away the tears from her tired eyes.

Weeks of hard labor had left her looking worn and weary, her eyes bloodshot from fatigue. But in that moment, her gaze was focused only on me, full of an unwavering intensity that drowned out everything else.

"I wish I could be the one who's sick instead."

For the first time, I couldn't hold back my tears. They streamed down my face as I held her close, my palms pressing against her cheeks, trying to soothe her.

"I'm going to get better. I promise."

After that, Jasmin swore to Claire that she wouldn't put herself through such extremes again to make money. Then, as always, she hurried off to her next job.

When she left, Claire stood beside my bed, her gaze shifting between the apple Jasmin had carefully peeled for me and the chicken soup she had brought from home. For a while, she said nothing.

I had always been a picky eater, but Jasmin's cooking was the only thing I could still stomach. Since I'd gotten sick, I'd lost most of my appetite, but she had made it her mission to ensure I didn't waste away during chemotherapy. Even after long hours of work, she would come to the hospital, borrowing the kitchen to prepare my meals for the next day.

I knew how exhausted she was. Sometimes, she'd nearly fall asleep while standing. It tore at my heart. I'd try to tell her that the hospital food was fine.

But she'd always look at me, her eyes so serious, and say, "Don't worry about me. As long as you're okay, I'm okay."

Eventually, even Claire had to admit, reluctantly:

"She's a good person. You're lucky to have her."