Mercy for Everyone but Me

When I got home, I took a shower, my legs trembling. After that, I made myself a simple meal. As I walked to the window, I could see Sean's car still parked downstairs.

Sean was leaning against it, smoking. The ground around him was littered with cigarette butts. As if he'd sensed my presence, he looked up and met my gaze.

I couldn't quite name what I felt at that moment. Sean's emotions were unreadable, yet it still rubbed me the wrong way. I pulled the curtains shut, determined not to think about him anymore.

At midnight, I turned off all the lights in the house. I ordered an eight-inch black forest cake on DoorDash, sat on the floor and lit 24 candles for myself.

I had never been big on ceremonies. For years, my birthdays slipped by before I even realized it. Sean was the same. Come to think of it, during all our time together, we'd never really marked any meaningful occasions.

However, this year demanded something special. After all, who knew if it was going to be my last birthday on earth?

When the time came for me to make my wish, my mind went blank. I didn't know if the cancer was a punishment or a reward.

When the thought of dying crossed my mind for the first time, I felt relieved, like I was about to be set free.

Only when I began packing did I realize how much stuff I had. I'd grown up in this house before it was sealed off and later bought by Sean before the foreclosure auction. I'd lived here ever since.

Much of that stuff was useless to me now. Still, since I was leaving, I didn't want to leave it behind, so I decided to throw it all away.

It took me two days to sort and clear most of the stuff out. I threw away what could be discarded and moved on to getting rid of the rest. My time on earth was limited as it was, and I refused to waste any more of it on trivialities.

In the end, I packed only two suitcases. When I left, I felt as light as a feather.

I booked a hotel for a week. Although I'd decided against getting treatment, I still went to the hospital. My doctor was an elderly gentleman well past 60. He had graying temples and wore a thick pair of glasses.

He'd likely never encountered a patient who treated leukemia like it was nothing. Or perhaps he was simply a kind old man saddened by a young person giving up on life.

He tried everything to persuade me, from gentle advice to stern words. Still, I didn't budge.

Eventually, when I thanked him and took the prescribed medication from him, he simply patted my shoulder wordlessly.

That afternoon, I went to see my brother, Adrian Price, who refused to see me. He hadn't actually seen me since he learned I was still with Sean despite everything.

I could hardly fault him for it.

Our family had gone bankrupt, and Dad had jumped to his death while Adrian was implicated in the fallout and subsequently imprisoned. Despite it all, I'd remained by the side of the man responsible for it all, as though nothing had happened.

If Adrian wasn't behind bars, I had no doubt he would have strangled me himself for being such a disgrace.

I waited until visiting hours ended before leaving. I handed the letter I'd written last night to the guard.

Rain had started falling outside by the time I stepped out. I stood under the awning for a while before dashing straight into the downpour.

The momentary thrill of walking in the rain came at a cost. That night, I developed a high fever and was eventually sent to the hospital by the hotel's housekeeping staff.

Since I didn't have my phone with me, I clung to consciousness just long enough to ask the nurse to arrange for someone to stay with me. After that, the next three days passed in a blur.

On the fourth day, I forced myself to get up and returned to the hotel. There, I showered, put on some makeup, then left to buy a new phone.

On the day I confronted Sean, I'd already submitted my resignation to the HR department. They told me to come in as soon as possible to finalize my resignation.

Since the next day was the weekend and I still had some things to collect from the office, I decided to go in.