Shaoting Yu’s face stiffened as Lin Mengmeng’s bitter face flashed through his mind. Actually, there had been signs all along, but he had never noticed. Could he really blame anyone else? Shaoting Yu couldn’t even say it himself. He understood in his heart that it was all due to his own negligence. His eyes dimmed, and he let go of Chen Zhe’s hand, his voice hoarse: “I’m sorry.” “I understand,” Chen Zhe sighed, patting Shaoting Yu’s shoulder. Together, they walked to Lin Mengmeng’s hospital room door. Chen Zhe, with his hands in his pockets, seemed to remember something and turned to Shaoting Yu again: “I heard Dr. Lin is your wife?” Shaoting Yu slightly nodded, his gaze not leaving the room. Chen Zhe furrowed his brows, solemnly saying, “You know that ALS is incurable, even with your surgery, it only delays her condition. In her final time, you should spend it well with her.” Shaoting Yu’s hand in his pocket trembled uncontrollably, and after a long while, he said hoarsely, “I understand.” After seeing Chen Zhe off, Shaoting Yu turned and entered the room. The silence around was overwhelming, a feeling Shaoting Yu couldn’t get used to. The person on the bed seemed too quiet, so much so that when Shaoting Yu approached, he couldn’t help but lighten his steps and slow his breathing. He sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing Lin Mengmeng’s hair away from her ear, gazing at her pale face.
Chapter Eleven: The End
