Chapter 2

He turned and left with Kewell to change.

The sales assistant looked at me awkwardly. She asked, "That wedding dress…"

Recalling the fleeting sparkle in Kewell's eyes, I pulled out my card. "I'll take it."

This was their first wedding gift from me.

Soon, I arranged the second gift.

I submitted a new wedding plan to the wedding planning company.

They looked troubled. "The new plan is completely different from the previous one, Ms. Schmidt."

I felt a pang of guilt, remembering how they'd worked sleepless nights on the first plan. "Can I pay extra?"

After I offered a generous amount, they promised to deliver a flawless champagne rose-themed wedding in a month.

I smiled faintly and told them, "The bride's name needs to be changed as well."

The assistant, who had been smiling moments before, gaped at me.

"I'm dying soon. I want the two most important people in my life to take care of each other."

There was no malice in my eyes, only a pure innocence that made the assistant think I was joking.

"It's late-stage cancer, no cure. Please don't tell them."

I spoke each word clearly, and the assistant stammered, "O-okay…"

Stepping out of the store, I slowly exhaled.

But a wave of nausea hit me, and I doubled over, dry heaving until I vomited blood.

I fumbled in my bag for my medication, only to realize I'd accidentally left the special pills, disguised as regular stomach medicine, in Paul's car.

Frantically, I pulled out my phone and called Paul. "Paul, my stomach hurts, and my pills are in your car. Could you…"

In the past, Paul would panic if I so much as scraped my finger, running a mile to get me iodine and bandages.

But today, he was unusually silent. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead from the pain.

"W-what…?"

I almost wondered if I was in so much pain I was hallucinating.

"Did you also see Kewell's Ins post? You know she's drunk at a bar right now and it's dangerous, yet you're using these petty tricks to get my attention and stop me from going to get her."

"I'm not."

The pain made my vision swim, and my heart felt like it was being pounded by a blunt object.

A thick cloud of injustice crept into my heart, and my nose began to sting.

"Enough. You're getting so selfish. Kewell already sacrificed so much for you once."

"She can't be hurt again. Buy your own medicine."

I nodded, wanting to say 'okay,' but realized the call had already been disconnected.

I gazed at the empty street, forcing myself to stay upright, though my body felt like it would collapse, and headed back to the hospital for more medication.

It hurt so much! I hated pain. I had booked euthanasia abroad, just three days before the wedding.

After taking my medicine, I started writing my will at home.

As I wrote, my eyelids started to droop.

I slumped on the desk, my mind hazy, and dreamt of the past.

Kewell, Paul, and I were eighteen, the inseparable trio, the 'It' crowd of our city.

But everything changed the day I accepted Paul's confession and went home.

My adoptive uncle, Richard, had been drugged.

His eyes were bloodshot as he looked at me and the roses in my hand, asking, "Joel, don't you love me?"

I had only ever seen him as an elder, never harboring any other thoughts.

He crept closer, knocking the phone out of my hand before I could call for help.

He cornered me against the window, and I screamed for help to Kewell and Paul, who hadn't gone far.

They burst in, seeing Richard pinning me to the floor, and Paul's eyes turned red.