Twisted Ties of Love novel Chapter 555

It was at that moment that Izabella realized the harrowing truth: Brett was truly dying of cancer.

He laid in the hospital bed, coughing violently, each hack spraying a crimson mist onto the once white sheets. He seemed like a fish dragged ashore, flailing helplessly in the face of death, and gulping the last vestiges of oxygen in a futile bid for life.

Izabella stood propped against the wall, feeling numb to the passage of time until the doctor emerged. Her legs had grown pins and needles from the wait.

One of the doctors kindly suggested, "You can go in now, but please, he needs rest. Try not to disturb him too much."

She entered, taking her silent vigil at the bedside of Brett.

What was there to see in winter?

—"Izabella, when you get better, I'll take you to see the snow."

There's no snow in R City.

—"Then we shall wait. We'll head north to see the flowers, south to savor street food, east to explore the old town, and west to watch the sea, where the seagulls soar freely."

Brett's pallor was alarming; his face was as white as a sheet—no hyperbole could capture the bloodlessness of it. The room's bright lights cast an almost translucent vulnerability on his features, as if he were fading away. His lips, the color of pale lotus, were barely distinguishable. IV lines snaked into his arm, and without touching, Izabella knew his hands were ice cold.

Brett, semi-conscious, murmured, "I still want to eat something you've cooked today."

"You still want to eat it? Aren't you afraid of dying?"

"Of course, I am." His voice was a soft chuckle; he kept his eyes closed, perhaps to avoid seeing the icy detachment in Izabella's gaze.

His eyelashes quivered, and his eyes were brimming with unshed tears, "But since I'm dying anyway, I might as well eat my fill; remember the taste of life one last time."

Izabella's gaze drifted to the window.

Then, Brett asked suddenly, "What's it like to die? Does it hurt?" He wanted to ask how much pain Izabella had felt, but upon reflection, he realized the futility of the question—aside from self-humiliation, he couldn't experience her pain anyway.

And deep down, he was terrified of the answer.

Izabella, however, didn't overthink his question. "It's painful at first, but your sensation would fade quickly. Hearing is the last sense to go. Death is like a wisp of smoke, scattered by the wind—no regrets, no resentment, no sorrow. It's as gentle as a breeze."

Brett pressed his lips together, without uttering a word.

Izabella looked down again, noticing that his left hand fingers were bare without nails—he pulled them out after her death. She also saw the burn scars on his chest.

She changed the subject, saying, "I know after I died, you tried to experience the pain I had endured. But it's meaningless. For you, it might feel like atonement, but atonement only counts if it's sincerely accepted."

Brett didn't want to hear any of it.

"I had a dream after you died," he confessed. "I saw you vanish in a great fire, after you told me that as long as you were still here, you wouldn't come back."

"Those were my thoughts, but then I realized, missing out on someone like Casey because of you would be a true regret. That would be unacceptable."

Brett opened his eyes, stiffening.

"I'm thirsty."

Taking pity on his condition, Izabella got him a glass of water.

At noon, Izabella prepared a simple broth, which was enough for two. The taste was bland, perfect for someone with a thickened tongue from too much medication.

Outside, workers were busy decorating; a sea of roses were laid out and even a red carpet was rolled out. Izabella wondered if Brett had anticipated his own death, so as to prepare the way for his final journey.

But shouldn't a funeral be white? Why the red carpet? Why red roses?

Suddenly, Izabella recalled a viral video—African pallbearers dancing with a coffin.

"Have you thought about how you want your funeral arranged?" she asked.

Brett replied with weariness, "Once I'm dead, I won't care about what happens."

"What about Liam? I haven't seen him around you." Izabella remembered that Liam was always by Brett's side; he was the one who'd spent the most time with him.

Yet, during her visits, she hadn't seen him once. Could something have happened?

"I let him go," Brett answered.

Izabella couldn't help but let out a laugh, which was tinged with sarcasm. "You can fire Liam, but aren't you afraid that there would be no one left to tend your grave and trim the weeds?"

Her interactions with Liam had been brief, but she remembered his loyalty to Brett, as well as his willingness to support him without question.