In the late stages of bone cancer, the doctor asked if I would consent to an amputation.

I couldn’t catch my breath.

After a long hesitation, I finally texted my husband, Jason Mitchell.

“The amputation surgery could give me another year to live. Do you want me to go through with it?”

Just one minute before they wheeled me into the operating room, my phone finally buzzed.

[You received $8888 from Jason Mitchell]

Just like every other message I had sent him over the past three years.

He sent me a Venmo notification.

I put down my phone and fell silent.

It started on our wedding night, when I asked to borrow $500,000 from him. From that moment on, he decided I was exactly what his friends called me: a gold digger.

So when I had a miscarriage, he sent me money.

When I begged him to come to my father’s funeral, he sent me money.

Six months ago, I was diagnosed with hereditary bone cancer.

In the near future, I would end up like my dad: full of tubes, missing limbs, just waiting to die in a hospital bed.

I broke down, calling him again and again, leaving long, tearful voicemails, ninety-seven of them.

I got back ninety-seven Venmo alerts.

Now, I was really about to lose a leg just to live a little longer.

And he was with his childhood friend, Sophia Reynolds, playing cards.

Looking at the girl’s sweet social media post and the flood of blessings in the comments, I gave a bitter smile and pulled out my IV line.

Jason once told me, with so much hatred in his voice, that breaking off his engagement to Sophia for a gold digger like me was the biggest regret of his life.

Well, I hope this time, he lives with no regrets.

***

Blood beaded up when the needle came out.

A nurse rushed over, pressing down on the spot, her voice anxious. “What are you doing?”

I just looked at her calmly and smiled.

“Hello. Please help me cancel the surgery.”

The doctor arrived quickly. He was quiet for a long time, then prescribed me some painkillers and let me go.

Walking back to my room, I overheard the nurse complaining.

“Dr. Johnson, this is a person’s life! Without the amputation, once the cancer spreads, she may not even last a week.”

A week. That’s how soon I might be free.

The doctor gave a wry smile. “You know, her father died in that very bed. Same disease.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“She’s been coming for chemo for a year. Always alone.”

“Other patients have family staying overnight, feeding them, helping them clean up. She just curls up in bed, shivering from the pain, and has to page the nurse on her own.”

“Her husband hasn’t come once. One time she called him in the middle of the night, and a woman answered.”

The doctor’s voice was very low. “Maybe it’s just fate.”

I clenched the prescription in my hand, my nails digging into my palm.

Yeah, maybe it was fate.

Just like when my dad was diagnosed, he held my hand, even though he was in so much pain, and he was still smiling. “Don’t be scared, sweetie. Dad can handle it.”

And then he died in my arms.

Just like how I asked Jason for that 500,000 dollars on our wedding night, to save my dad.

I still remember the shock and pain in that man’s eyes.

“Emily, to you, am I just an ATM?”

“My parents, my friends, even Sophia told me you were a con artist, but I didn’t believe any of them.”

“My dad was furious when I told him about you. He broke three of my ribs. I still screamed from the hospital bed that I was marrying you.”

His voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot.

I never expected that reaction. Tears instantly filled my eyes.

“No, Jason, it’s not like that. My dad, he…”

“We got married today.” He cut me off, ripping off his red tie and throwing it on the floor. “And you’re choosing right now to show your true colors?”

“Jason, I swear I’ll pay you back! No, forget it, I won’t borrow it. I’ll figure something else out. Please don’t be mad.”

He threw the card at my face and gave a stiff, cold smile. “A gold digger doesn’t give money back.”

“Stop pretending. You’re exactly what they said.”

He slammed the door behind him.

That was our wedding night. I waited in the living room until four in the morning.

It was Sophia who brought him home. Jason was dead drunk, slumped against her. Under the hall light, a fresh hickey stood out on her neck like a brand.

Sophia gave me an apologetic, innocent smile. “Sorry about this, Emily. Jason took his anger out on me. You get some sleep.”