Eleven Years All to the Wrong Man novel Chapter 4

"One course of treatment generally lasts twenty-eight days. You can opt for outpatient care. As for whether you'll live, I can't give you any guarantees. But if you choose not to get treatment, I can guarantee you will die."

Nathan's brow was still furrowed. He was young but already an expert in the field of leukemia treatment with a distinguished record. He was mature and capable, his only flaw being a rather short temper.-

He had a particular dislike for patients like this—those who clearly had the money but refused treatment and showed no regard for their own lives.

"I may be your doctor, but the decision to undergo treatment is yours. If you want to do it, we'll start. If not, I'll prescribe some medication for now."

Nathan's expression had turned completely cold. He scribbled a few lines on a prescription pad and quickly handed the slip to Emma.

"Next," he called out, not looking at her again.

Emma took the prescription, glanced at him once, then stood up and walked slowly out of the examination room on her slender heels.

After picking up her medication, she left the hospital to find a light rain had started to fall again.

Fall had come especially early this year. She remembered this time last year, Averton City was still sweltering in temperatures over a hundred degrees. Back then, the first thing she did every morning was call Jason.

She would demand a detailed, minute-by-minute account of Evan's schedule for the day.

Ever since she had stumbled upon him in his office, the word "trust" had ceased to exist between them. Emma wished she could know what Evan was doing at every single moment.

Otherwise, her mind would wander, wondering if Evan was with another woman again.

When she was home alone, she was consumed by insecurity, living in a constant state of anxiety and dread.

But the moment Evan came home, she would instantly switch into a combative, aggressive state, like a woman possessed, determined to start a fight to mask the deep-seated fear and vulnerability within her.

She unlocked her phone screen. No one had tried to contact her. The lock screen was cluttered with useless ad notifications.

She checked the time. It was already five in the afternoon.

Though she had no appetite, Emma spent half an hour driving to a small braised pork diner on the outskirts of town, a place she hadn't visited in a long time.

There weren't many people there when she arrived.

They would get it to-go, then cook another pot of rice at home in their rice cooker. They'd mix the fresh rice with soy sauce and sesame oil in a large stainless-steel bowl, then pour the takeout meal in and mix it all together.

The savory richness of the braised pork and gravy, the refreshing crunch of the vegetables and bean sprouts… they were poor and struggling back then, but they were happy, truly happy.

Now, they had everything they could ever want, lacking nothing, yet their hearts had drifted farther and farther apart.

After a few bites, Emma lost her appetite.

A wave of nausea rolled in her stomach. She fought down the urge to vomit and asked the owner to pack up the rest to-go.

On the way back, she hit rush hour traffic and was stuck for two hours. It was late at night by the time she got home.

As she opened the door, she saw a light was on in the entryway. A pair of men's leather shoes sat on the mat.

Evan was home.