Brett was a man who scoffed at the idea of fate, but after the tragic loss of Izabe, he found himself drawn to an old cathedral in R City. Lighting a candle and leaving a donation, he knelt before the statue of a saint, even though he was unsure of what hadpelled him to seek sce in such a ce.


    The act felt in part therapeutic, and in part self-getion.


    An elderly priest noticed him, a figure of stillness amidst the flickering candles, and approached to warn him that kneeling for too long could harm his knees. Brett remained unresponsive, so the priest offered, "Son, would you like me to read your fortune?"


    Looking up, Brett gave a slight nod.


    After Brett provided his name and date of birth, the priest asked, "What shall we look into?"


    Brett struggled to find an answer. Since Izabe''s death, his desires had faded, and nothing held meaning anymore.


    The priest studied Brett in silence, and then asked him to extend his left hand to read his palm. His gaze lingered on a scar in Brett''s palm while he murmured a prayer and made calctions in his head; soon he arrived at a conclusion.


    He wrote a single word: "Nothing."


    Wealth without joy, no family to share his fortunes with no parents, no wife, no child.


    Such a curse was new even to the priest, who shook his head and sighed deeply as he pondered Brett''s fate. Orphaned as a child, widowed and childless as a young man, he had a life of solitude with a looming shadow of a premature end.


    The only blessing Brett seemed to have was financial security.


    He had never believed in destiny, but the priest''s words struck a chord. Brett''s life seemed a cruel jest, as if he had gambled everything on Izabe and lost it all to the whims of fate.


    Christmas Eve had marked the beginning of his story with Izabe. Now, it was nothing more than a lingering obsession.


    Brett had made his ns. He intended to spend onest Christmas Eve in memory of Izabe before bringing everything full circle.


    But fate had other ns. His illness worsened suddenly.


    The culprit was the te of chiliden pork kidneys-a dish Izabe had mastered. Brett had devoured it, with chilies and all, in a masochistic fulfillment of a death wish. Ignoring the hospital, he called his personal medical team. They rushed to his side with their equipment; the process was silent but for the urgent scurry of their steps.


    Izabe stood outside, watching themotion with an unexpected twinge of concern. This was not the first time she had seen Brett copse, but it was the first time she trulyprehended the severity of his condition.


    Brett''s lungs were failing. The excessive spices, the sleepless nights, and the bitter cold of R City''s winter without a hint of sunshine had exacerbated his condition. The flu and fever made each breath of him a struggle, but he refused to fall; there were still things he wanted to do.


    Coughing violently, he spat out a mouthful of blood, the crimson stark against his pallidplexion.


    Surgery was not an option Brett would entertain, and without his consent, the doctors could only provide emergency care on the spot.


    Izabe, staying outside, was approached by a nurse who inquired about her rtionship to Brett.


    What was she to him? His ex-wife? An enemy? A stranger?


    The nurse, misinterpreting her silence, thought she was perhaps a mistress kept by a rich man-a scenario she''d seen all too often. "How is he?" Izabe''s voice was t and devoid of concern, as if she was inquiring about a stranger.


    "Cancer is such a beast; the


    emotional state can significantly impact the patient''s health. Optimism is crucial, and so are dietary habits. Mr. Windham must


    e have indulged in something he shouldn''t have, and he might have had bad sleep in this cold weather, which caused his condition to deteriorate," the nurse exined.


    "He really has cancer?"


    The nurse was taken aback. "You didn''t know about it?"


    "I did. I want to know how long he can still live."


    Izabe was familiar with the situation. When she was diagnosed with stomach cancer, the doctor had looked at her with the same pity and helplessness.


    "I need to understand Mr. Windham''s recent condition further. Can you share with me?" the nurse prodded, hoping for more clues to Brett''s rapid decline; his body was now gaunt, a stark contrast to the muscr frame he once had.


    Izabe nodded in response to the doctor''s inquiry.


    "What has Brett been eatingtely?" the doctor asked, probing for a clue to his patient''s worsening condition.


    With a slight shrug, Izabe replied, "He had a te of jpe?o poppers."


    It seemed they had found the culprit. Although the doctor had suspected that diet might y a role, it was still shocking for him to hear it


    l.n


    confirmed by Izabe. It was hard to believe that someone would gamble


    with their life so carelessly


    carelessly


    "Why on earth would he eat something so spicy? I remember he''s been avoiding hot food for ages. We''ve been really strict with his diet here, and he''s never coughed up this much blood before." The doctor tried to keep his tone even, but there was an undercurrent of reproach in his words.


    "Don''t you know he has cancer? Why didn''t you stop him? With this illness, he doesn''t have much time left, and right now Brett looks like he can''t handle any stress at all."


    Izabe just wanted to know how


    many days Brett had left. She


    wished the doctor would cut the


    chatter. Cancer - of course, she knew about the dietary restrictions, the inability to endure any strain, and the excruciating pain during an episode. She''d been through it, so she understood exactly what Brett was going through.


    But what of it?


    Surely Brett''s suffering was nothingpared to the things he had done to her in the past.


    After all she had been through, she was still here. And Brett? Was he going to die just because of a te of jpe?os?


    Izabe cast her gaze downward, so as to hide her emotions from view.


    The doctor mistook her silence for self-reproach and concern for Brett. Seeing that she was a woman, he tried to offer somefort.


    "Don''t worry too much," he said gently. "Although there''s no cure for advanced lung cancer with the current level of medical technology, the field is advancing every day. There could be a breakthrough at any moment."


    Just then, someone called from inside the room.


    "Dr. Zack, could youe here, please?"


    As the door swung open, Brett''s coughing continued, each hack more gut-wrenching than thest, so much so that it pulled at the heartstrings and caused a physical ache in his ears.Copyright N?v/el/Dra/ma.Org.


    Izabe despised the person she was bing, as she found herself resembling the very person she loathed the most.


    Who else knew that Brett was on his deathbed with cancer?


    A man who had made enemies everywhere, who wouldn''t even spare his own aunt''s family - had he ever considered that once he was gone, there might be no one left to visit his grave during the holidays?