Após fingir a própria morte por câncer, o marido canalha e o filho ingrato choram como cães

Stage IV stomach cancer, only three months left.

Yao Shan gripped her phone as she sat in the park, her vacant gaze staring blankly into the distance. Dampness welled in her eyes.

A month ago, she fainted while on a business trip out of town. The hospital diagnosed her with stomach cancer. She thought it was a misdiagnosis. Today, upon returning from her trip, she went straight from the airport to the city’s largest tertiary hospital.

The result was unchanged.

A despair she could not suppress surged within her. If she died, what would become of her husband and son?

She covered her face, tears seeping through her fingers.

Only after a long while, when her emotions settled, did she dial her husband's number.

“Qizhou…”

“Miss Yao? Sorry, this isn’t Brother Qizhou. He’s in the kitchen cooking and can’t answer the phone right now. If you need anything, you can tell me!”

A young woman’s cheerful voice came through the line.

“Pei Qizhou… is cooking?”

Her voice was weak, still trembling from her tears.

They had been married for seven years, and she never knew that Pei Qizhou could cook. Even when she was gravely ill with a fever, he’d never set foot in the kitchen.

Neither he nor their son liked takeout. She remembered three years ago, after her surgery, the father and son pitifully complained that they were sick of takeout and wanted her cooking.

She had dragged her still-recovering body home to cook for them, reopening her wound and ending up hospitalized for another week.

Even then,