Rubbing my eyes, I noticed a few missed calls from Ariana.
Just as I was about to dial her back, I heard the sound of a keypad being tapped at the front door.
She walked in, dragging a massive suitcase behind her.
Seeing me lying on the sofa, she was annoyed.
"Arthur, didn't we agree to finalize our divorce today? What's taking you so long?"
I blinked at her, suddenly remembering that we'd planned to finalize the divorce.
Her annoyance grew as she noticed my dazed expression.
"Come on! Get a move on! What are you waiting for?"
I pressed my hand against my abdomen, feeling pale and clammy.
"Ariana, I'm not feeling too well today. Can we push this until tomorrow? It's not like this is some race."
I used to be in good health, so I'd never imagined stomach cancer could be this debilitating.
A memory flickered through my mind—my father passing away from late-stage stomach cancer.
He'd hidden his pain from me, not wanting to burden me with his suffering.
It hit me how much agony he'd endured without a word.
But my uncertainty only seemed to fuel Ariana's impatience.