“I told you already,” Darius continued, “Althea is seriously ill. She doesn’t have much time left. Do you expect me to let her face death alone?”
The pain in my palm was unbearable, but I couldn’t stop. I was the one facing death.
Perhaps Althea heard us arguing because her soft voice came through the phone again.
“Darius, you should go back. I don’t want Vera to be upset,” she said gently.
“It’s fine,” Darius replied, “She won’t be upset. I’ll leave after you fall asleep.”
I let out a numb, bitter laugh.
“Darius, don’t ever come back,” I said, my voice breaking.
After hanging up the phone, I removed the diamond ring from my finger. It seemed like a harsh, jagged stone at that moment, hurting my eyes.
The clock was about to strike midnight.
“I’m ready,” I said to the system, my voice barely a whisper. “Take me away.”
“Host, please try a little harder,” the system urged. “I can buy you some time. Go find him and bring him back.”
But that hope faded when I saw Althea's post on social media.
She had written, [I casually mentioned it and Darius drove over thirty kilometers to buy me a mango cake.]