Chapter 6

Before I was pushed into the operating room, I received a message from an unknown number.

It was an intimate photo of Flora laying on a sleeping Ron’s arm while she gave a challenging look at the camera lens, and by extension, me.

I already knew who sent the photo.

I laughed.

Over this period of time, Ron called me a lot of times, but I blacklisted all of his numbers.

All I wanted to do at present was to give him one final gift.

I wrote my will.

In it, I wrote a short summary of my thought process during the ten years I loved him.

Honestly, I did not think he was going to care. He might not even read the message, but I still wrote it in order to write this one sentence down at the end.

[During the last moments of my life, I just want to say this: Ron Stone, I hate you.]

My crazed love had seeped into my flesh and bones, and it tore me apart.

I told him plenty of times before that I loved him, but this was the one and only time I said I hated him.

After I said those words, i