At midnight, Ethan still hadn’t returned.
I sat idly on the sofa, soothing the baby growing inside me.
Since I became pregnant, Ethan had never stayed out so late, and I had never stayed up this late either.
Even when he had social engagements, Ethan would hurry home to massage the swelling in my calves caused by pregnancy.
I would curl up on the sofa, watching him carefully and attentively tend to me.
"You’re so good to me."
Ethan would lean in to kiss me, saying, "You’re my wife, the mother of my child. Who else should I treat well if not you?"
Ethan was a gentle man, and I always knew that.
As I was about to head to bed, I heard the sound of the door opening at the entrance.
Ethan, looking surprised, asked, "Why are you still up?"
I wanted to ask him, "And why are you home so late?"
But I only hung my head and looked at my swollen calves.
"My calves are sore, and I couldn’t sleep."
"Hmm."
He responded absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.
I decided to bring up Cassie. "How is Cassie?"
Ethan frowned deeply, his face etched with persistent worry. "Elle, Cassie really only has a month left."
I could see the panic and the glimmer of tears in his eyes.
"She’s lost so much weight and is often vomiting blood."
"She says no one is taking care of her, and she often feels cold."
"She’s only 25. How could she have cancer?"
He spoke with such anguish, as though he had lost something precious.
And here I was, his wife, sitting on the sofa, listening to his concerns for another woman.
"Ethan," I interrupted him, "it’s time to sleep."
Cassie was indeed pitiable, but listening to Ethan's worries about her made me feel like the one who was pitiful and tragic.
Ethan seemed to realize it was inappropriate to discuss this with me and fell silent awkwardly.
Before bed, Ethan massaged my legs as usual, but his touch was distracted.
A phone call came in—it was Cassie.
Ethan’s grip on me tightened painfully, and he quickly moved to answer, hurrying outside. His urgent steps betrayed his fear for missing something.
Tonight, we slept back to back.
He tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to sleep, and I couldn’t sleep either.
My calves ached, and the rustling of the sheets was too loud.
It drove me to distraction.
As I drifted off, I heard Ethan sigh heavily beside me.
The next morning, Ethan knelt before me, his hand resting on my knee, his eyes red with pleading.
"Elle, please... give me one month."
"Cassie only has one month left to live. I want to... spend her final days with her."
I took his hand from my knee and placed it on my pregnant belly, speaking softly.
"Ethan, what about our child?"
There is only one month left until he’s born.