?Chapter 183:


    Later, she drifted toward the cancer center. There, the suffering wasid bare. Some patients writhed in agony, their voices hoarse from crying. Others had no strength left, lying motionless in bed, their quiet sobs barely audible.


    Perhaps the chemotherapy had drained them. Perhaps they were just tired—tired of the pain, the struggle, the endless uncertainty.


    Rachel saw so many faces—elderly women, teenage girls, and even toddlers. Life was so fragile. Rachel sighed. And what about her? Would she end up the same way?


    Hair falling out. Confined to a hospital bed. Drowning in pain. Watching her own life slip away—piece by piece.


    Or worse—trapped in a state where she was alive but barely living. A hollow existence, clinging to life without dignity or meaning. Her eyes stung. A lump formed in her throat.


    Rachel wasn’t sure how long she wandered aimlessly through the hospital until her phone rang. She pulled it out with slightly trembling fingers.


    The nurse’s voice came through. “Ms. Marsh, your re-examination results are ready.”


    Rachel exhaled slowly. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”


    Rachel pushed open the doctor’s office door, her expression noticeably calmer this time.


    “Doctor, are the test results still the same?” she asked, her voice steady.


    The doctor gave a slow nod. “Yes, they haven’t changed.”


    That confirmed it—there had been no mistake. The diagnosis was absolute. She had already prepared herself for this.


    That was why she had spent so much time lingering around the hospital. People always clung to hope, no matter how small. Taking the test again had only been a way to erase even the faintest illusion of escape.


    Her fate was sealed. She would leave soon.


    Yet, despite knowing that, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Am I dying?”


    The doctor’s tone was reassuring but firm. “Please don’t lose hope so quickly. After reviewing your condition, I believe the best course of action is a kidney transnt. Your kidney function is failing.”


    A transnt. But how realistic was that? Every year, thousands of patients waited on donor lists. How many actually got the chance?


    Rachel couldn’t afford to hope. She had never been the lucky one—not as a child, not now. She had never even won a raffle, always standing by as others walked away with the prize.


    “If I can’t get a transnt, what happens then?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.


    “Regr dialysis.”


    The words felt like a weight pressing against her chest.


    “That must be painful and exhausting, right?”


    The doctor’s silence spoke louder than words.


    Sensing her unease, he softened his tone, offering what littlefort he could. “Ms. Marsh, you can’t let despair take over. As long as you follow the treatment n, there’s always a chance. I’ll reach out today and have my colleagues monitor organ donations closely. If a match bes avable, you’ll be notified right away.”


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