When I woke up, Talisa was the only one in the ward.
She glared at me with red eyes, as if I were a heartless man.
The truth came too suddenly, making things a bit awkward!
"Where's my kid?" I asked.
Talisa gritted her teeth. "Anne, you really are something, hiding such a big thing from me?
And your memory loss, was that a lie too?"
"God as my witness!" I swore, raising my hand. "I really did lose my memory!"
Talisa looked determined to get to the bottom of it, so I had to honestly spill the beans.
I really did lose my memory due to the tumor in my brain that was pressing on my nerves.
Before losing my memory, I had already started seeing doctors, and they had concluded that there was a possibility of memory impairment.
Sure enough, after another bout of unconsciousness, I lost my memory.
The doctors conducted a comprehensive examination and informed me that my memory damage was irreversible and could become progressively worse.
They also reminded me that if I wanted to know about my condition, I should check the notes on my phone.
And the first sentence in my phone's notes was: [Don't tell anyone about your condition.]
"How long has it been?" Talisa asked in a hoarse voice.
"The doctors said it was discovered one and a half months ago. It's malignant and there's no possibility of a cure."
I directly dispelled any thoughts Talisa had of persuading me to undergo surgery.
"So you didn't tell anyone?"
I found a comfortable position and continued lying down.
"I don't know what I was thinking at the time, but I agree with it."
"After all, there's no cure, so there's no need to make everyone mourn with me. We should be happy for as long as we can!"
Talisa looked at me, and tears slid down her cheeks.
I hurried to comfort her. "Okay, okay, I'm afraid of you doing this, it's unnecessary! This is a matter of fate and destiny."
"Now can you tell me where York went?"
Talisa said that York had a terrible expression on his face after learning about my condition, and then he rushed out of the hospital without looking back.
I hurriedly called him, but there was no answer.
I tried again, but his phone was off.
I was worried about him and wanted to leave the hospital to find him.
Talisa stopped me.
"Give him some time to calm down."
I thought York would come to see me soon.
Not that I'm trying to elicit pity, but since I don't have many days left, doesn't he want to cherish the last moments we have together?
However, during the three days I was in the hospital, he didn't come to see me. And when I got home, I found out that he had moved into the dorms.
I felt that things were getting complicated.
I couldn't reach him, so I had to wait for him outside his classroom.
When he saw me, he was expressionless and turned to leave.
I grabbed him. "York, let's talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
He tried to break free, but I wouldn't let go.
He relented. "Fine, what do you want to talk about?"
I asked him, "Why did you suddenly decide to live on campus?"
York sneered. "You're going to die anyway. I'll have to live alone eventually, so what's the difference whether it's now or later?"
His words were like a sharp knife, piercing a deep wound in my heart.
It hurt terribly.
"York, don't talk like that."
"What should I say?" York looked at me. "You should have died two years ago!"
He said, "If you had died back then, I would have adapted by now."
With York, I've always had a sense of wanting to make amends.
Because in my phone's notes, there were countless entries about York, each filled with guilt.
But what he said today really hurt me.
It was as if he was hoping for my death.
Talisa sighed. "You can't blame him for this."
"Don't tell me it's my fault?" I said irritably.
Talisa looked at me silently.
My heart sank. "What did I do two years ago?"
After a moment's hesitation, she said, "Two years ago, you attempted suicide by taking sleeping pills. It was York who found you and rushed you to the hospital for emergency treatment."
"He probably thinks you don't want to live anymore."
I stood there stunned, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably.
Two years ago, York was thirteen, still a teenager, in junior high school, with no one to rely on except his mother.
But his mother attempted suicide.
How desperate must he have felt then?
And now, have I pushed him back into despair again?
