The Late Blooming Heiress

My name is Farina Franklin. I'm forty years old. That day, sunlight streamed through the office blinds, casting mottled shadows across the desk. I held two sheets of paper in my hands, my fingertips growing pale. One was a paternity test report clearly stating that I share a blood relationship with Mr. Lancaster, the city's wealthiest man—I am the Lancaster family's daughter lost for forty years. The other was my husband Kevin Carter's physical exam report. The words "lung cancer" struck my eyes like two sharp knives. Joy and despair surged inside me at the same time, nearly overwhelming me. I took a deep breath, struggling to steady my emotions, and carefully placed both papers into my bag. On the way home from work, the scenery outside the taxi window flew by, but I couldn't focus on a single word. My mind kept replaying Kevin Carter's reaction to the truth. He's so afraid of pain and values his life so much; there was no way he could accept it. I decided to keep it to myself for now, waiting for the right moment to tell him. Pushing open the door, I saw Kevin sitting on the sofa watching TV, holding the remote and switching channels repeatedly, his face showing impatience. "You're back?" He didn't even look up, his tone so indifferent it was as if he were talking to a stranger. "Mm," I replied softly, changed into my shoes, and sat down beside him. "Was work tiring today?" "Not too bad," he said without taking his eyes off the TV. "I'm hungry." I got up and walked into the kitchen, looked at the ingredients in the fridge, but didn't have much appetite. I quickly made two dishes and a soup. By the time I brought them to the table, Kevin Carter had already turned off the TV and picked up his chopsticks to start eating. "Why didn't you make the braised pork I love today?" He frowned and set down his chopsticks. "I forgot to buy meat. I'll make it for you tomorrow," he said. I said quietly. He said nothing and kept his head down while eating; the only sounds at the table were the clinking of bowls and chopsticks, stifling in their heaviness. At night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Kevin Carter's steady breathing filled the space beside me, yet I felt like an ocean of distance lay between us. The next morning, while Kevin was washing up, I secretly tucked his physical exam report into the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. I thought that as long as I didn't say a word, this matter could be temporarily put aside. But I never expected trouble to arrive so swiftly. Over the weekend, Kevin Carter was tidying up the wardrobe, searching for a thick coat. His hand accidentally brushed against that drawer, and out of curiosity, he pulled it open. The physical exam report slipped to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, and as he read it, his face instantly paled. I heard a noise and ran over from the living room, arriving just in time to see him holding the report, his eyes coldly fixed on me. "What's going on?" His voice trembled, tinged with disbelief and anger. "I..." I opened my mouth but couldn't find the words to explain. "You knew all along, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?" He stepped closer to me, his voice filled with accusation. "I was afraid you couldn't handle it and wanted to find the right moment to tell you." I took a step back and whispered. "The right moment? Your so-called right moment was just watching me wait to die?" He suddenly slammed the report down on the floor. "Farina, have you been hoping for my death all along?" I froze, surprised he would say something like that. "I didn't, Kevin. Don't talk nonsense." My eyes filled with tears, my voice trembling with hurt. "Am I talking nonsense?" He sneered, "Are you waiting for me to die so you can seize my fortune and marry into a wealthy family?" His words stabbed me like a thousand sharp knives, leaving me utterly wounded. "I never thought that way, Kevin. We've been husband and wife for so many years. How can you treat me like this?" I couldn't help but burst into tears. "Husband and wife? Is there still any feeling of being husband and wife between us?" His eyes were cold. "Don't think I don't know—you've long stopped wanting to live with me." "I haven't!" I shouted back. "Enough!" He interrupted me. "I'm done treating this illness. Doctors are all liars; they just want to swindle my money!" "Kevin, don't be stubborn. Early-stage lung cancer can be treated. Can we go to the hospital for treatment?" I grabbed his hand and pleaded. He yanked his hand away forcefully. "Don't touch me! I don't need your fake kindness. If you really care about me, then stay out of my business!" After saying that, he turned and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with a bang, leaving me alone in the living room, tears soaking my clothes. I stared at the closed door, feeling a cold chill in my heart. I never expected his first reaction to the diagnosis would be not fear, but suspicion and blame directed at me. The man I've loved for more than ten years suddenly felt so distant, so selfish in this moment. I crouched on the floor, hugging my knees, and cried helplessly. The sky outside grew darker, just like my mood—utterly devoid of light.