Mr. Burns Is Killing His Wife

Chapter 1 She's Dying

"Ms. Powell, did your family not come with you?"

Elisa Powell was confused. It was just a physical exam report, did she really need someone to come with her?

Besides, what family did she have left?

Her mother died in childbirth giving birth to her. Her father treated her as a tool to make money. Her brother blamed her for their mother's death and hated her bitterly. And her lover - she had stolen him away. If it weren't for the doctor suddenly mentioning the word "family", she would have nearly forgotten what that meant.

After a moment of hesitation, Elisa shook her head. "Just me."

The doctor furrowed his brows, pushed up the glasses on his nose, and let out a heavy sigh. His eyes were full of pity and his tone was helpless. He handed Elisa the stack of lab reports on his desk. "Ms. Powell, the test results are back. Late-stage stomach cancer."

He seemed to pity this young woman who had such a terminal illness, speaking and moving cautiously.

Elisa's breath hitched. She took the lab report and frowned at the numbers. She wasn't a doctor, but she could tell how serious the tumor in her stomach was.

She had actually suspected something when she had the endoscopy done, but didn't dare think about it.

The doctor pointed at the images, explaining them one by one to Elisa. Elisa spaced out, only catching half of what he said. In summary, she didn't have much time left and needed to be admitted to the hospita for chemotherapy as soon as possible.

How long could someone with late-stage stomach cancer live? Elisa was clearer than anyone on this illness, because her grandfather had struggled for two years before dying from it.

The doctor kindly suggested, "Ms. Powell, we recommend you be admitted as soon as possible to begin treatment."

"If I'm admitted, will I get better?" Elisa asked hoarsely, seeming to mutter to herself.

The doctor didn't respond, only shaking his head helplessly.

So there was no cure. Elisa licked her dry lips, stood up and shoved the diagnosis into her bag.

She said thanks, turned and left the examination room.

When she left the hospital, it was raining outside. The fine rain mixed with cold wind stung her face like knives. Elisa opened her bag, took out her umbrella and popped it open. The rain fell diagonally and the umbrella didn't block the chill.

The March weather wasn't very cold, but Elisa's chill came from her bones, spreading nonstop through her blood to her limbs.

Her fingers were red from the cold. She held the umbrella with one hand and clenched her other hand in a fist in her pocket, but no matter how she tried, she couldn't warm up.

Elisa walked aimlessly, turning the ring on her left hand. She looked up at the overcast sky. The weather in Yorkshire changed so quickly. Before she realized it, spring had come. Spring was supposed to be the season of vitality, so how come when it arrived for her, it meant she was going to die?

Elisa stood at the roadside and hailed a taxi. When it pulled over, she slowly folded up her umbrella and bent to get into the backseat.

The driver asked, "Where to?"

"North Yorkshire," Elisa replied softly.

After driving for a while, Elisa couldn't help but open her bag and look again at the images from the diagnosis.

The stomach in the pictures was twisted and ugly, hard to believe it was part of her own body.

Her stomach cancer was starved out. In the four years married to Hamish Burns, in order to please him she had diligently cooked to his tastes, thinking that even if he didn't like her, at least seeing a full table might soften him towards her a bit.

But Hamish had no desire or willingness to share a meal with her at all. Still she hopefully prepared dinner every day, texting him on time to come eat. All this waiting didn't bring him, but it did bring the stomach

cancer.

In the end she couldn't hold back her tears. Elisa sucked in a breath. She had thought herself strong enough to weather any storm.

But today, all the strength she had pretended to have collapsed instantly. Her stomach kept cramping and Elisa curled up, unable to stop her trembling. She bit down hard with a stifled moan.

Hearing her sobs, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror. The woman was hunched over, her slender back shaking uncontrollably. It seemed like all the air in the car would be sucked away by her. This was the first time he had seen someone cry so despairingly.

"Miss, are you alright? Did you just get dumped or have problems with work?" he asked.

No response from the backseat, so he continued, "Nothing's so bad it can't be endured. Try thinking positive - crying won't solve anything. Go home and get some good rest, tomorrow the sun will rise on a new day."

Elisa lifted her head with a bitter smile at the corner of her mouth. She hadn't expected that the person to comfort her in her terminal illness would be a complete stranger.

The driver just smiled without responding, and focused again on driving. When they reached North Yorkshire, he pulled over in a temporary parking spot.

The thirty minute drive cost 28 pounds. Elisa paid and got out of the car, ripping up the diagnosis report and tossing it in the trash can.

Another cold wind blew by. Elisa wiped the dried tears from her face, resuming the calm, unruffled expression of a mature woman. Only her puffy red eyes and bloodless face gave away that she had been crying.