Faded Like the Aurora

In the fifth year of my marriage to Cyrus Shields, I fell ill.

Sparing no cost, he said that he would find the most compatible donor for me.

A week before the surgery, I was knocked out by medication. When I woke up, I touched my hair only to feel a smooth, bare scalp.

Florence Grant stood there holding a pair of clippers, her eyes gleaming gleefully. She said, "Gayle, since you're about to have surgery anyway, I thought I'd help shave it off for you."

But a bone marrow transplant never required shaving one's head.

"Who told you you could do that? That was my hair!" I roared, trembling with rage.

Cyrus pushed the door and entered at that moment, saying, "Florence is still young. She's just a little bit mischievous. Gayle, don't make such a huge fuss over it."

He paused and looked at me with a complicated gaze before saying, "Besides, she's the one donating her bone marrow to you."

All the anger and grievance churning inside me were forcibly pressed back into my chest by what Cyrus said.

He was right. Florence was my hope of surviving.

Seeing me fall silent, Florence cast me a smug glance. She casually set the clippers on the bedside table, then said in a soft, aggrieved tone, "Cyrus, I was just trying to help her. How could she be so mean?"

Cyrus walked over and reached out to ruffle her hair as naturally as breathing. "I know you were just being kind. Don't take it to heart. I'll take you to that restaurant you always wanted to try later."

Then, he turned to look at my bald head. "Gayle, honestly. You've overreacted. It's just hair. It will grow back."

Cyrus had once said that he loved my long hair. In the past, whenever I brushed my hair, and a few strands fell, he would carefully pick them up and say with a smile that he would keep them.

At that moment, all of my hair lay scattered on the floor, yet he said nothing.

I no longer looked at them. My head felt naked. The coolness seeped right into my bones.

"It's fine. Gayle's sick. It's only normal that she's in a bad mood," Florence said understandingly. She picked up an apple by the side and said, "Let me help you peel an apple. You need the vitamins."

Before I could answer, she picked up the fruit knife.

Cyrus smiled at her and looked on.

Her movements were clumsy. The peel came off in uneven strips, taking chunks of flesh with it. Suddenly, she let out a small cry.

"Ouch!"

She had cut her finger.

Cyrus nervously picked her hand up. "How could you be so careless? Does it hurt?" He pulled a bandage from his pocket and carefully wrapped her finger with it. His movements were so gentle as if he were handling fragile glass.

Meanwhile, my own hands were covered in bruised needle marks and tape from days of IV drips. Some spots were still oozing blood.

He had never seemed to notice.

"It's fine, Cyrus. It doesn't hurt." Florence smiled at him before turning toward me. She held out the poorly peeled apple and said, "Here, Gayle. For you."

A wave of nausea washed over me as I looked at that apple.

"I don't want any of it."

Cyrus immediately furrowed his brow. "Gayle, Florence had so kindly peeled the apple for you. Don't be rude."

"I already said, I don't want any of it," I repeated once more before shutting my eyes, refusing to look at them anymore.

Cyrus said with a hint of impatience, "Your temper has been getting worse lately. Florence is here to save your life. Can't you treat her better?"

Florence said gently, ever so understanding, "Cyrus, don't get mad. Gayle's sick and feeling unwell. It's only normal that she's in a bad mood. I don't mind."

Cyrus sighed and placed his arm around Florence. "Let's head out. We'll let her calm down."

They left the door ajar, so I could hear them discussing heading to the restaurant.

Cyrus seemed to have forgotten that he had promised me he was going to get me Mr. Beach's Sandwiches that evening.