Everett asked me to drive her lover home and I said yes straight away without saying a word.

The girl was not very old, looked about twenty-five years old, talking and laughing, her eyes full of vigor.

Hearing my words, she raised her long eyebrows in interest, "You're quite tolerant then, Everett was right, you'd do anything for him."

The car traveled gently down the road, the shadows of the trees on both sides of the road flying back.

I swept her a glance in the rearview mirror and said calmly, "He won't put his heart into you, and you're the third girl I've sent home in the last six months. If it's just for fun, I hope you don't give your heart, it won't end well."

As the words fell out of her mouth, she looked at me for a moment, poofed, and laughed, "Sister, are you reminding me? In what capacity, Everett's wife? Or someone who's been there? You're so serious, those who don't know would think we're good friends."

She smiled as she spoke, her eyes curved and her pale cheeks slightly flushed, it was so pretty, Everett always had such a good eye.

More importantly, she's confident and reckless. At this age, to get Everett to take an interest, I'm sure, she's got her stuff together.

Unlike me, at thirty-five years of age, the edges have long been smoothed by society and age.

In Everett's words, I've lost my passion and my vigor, and he can't find anything new in me.

I sighed inwardly and fell silent.

However, the girl took my silence as an admission of defeat, and she leaned back in her chair and began tweeting with Everett.

After seeing that I didn't react much, she deliberately turned on the speaker again. Everett's voice with a smirk reached my ears from the phone, "Let me know when you get home and I'll see you tomorrow, I'll take you to that steakhouse on Willow Lane."

"Bzzz-" I slammed on the brakes.

The car braked and the tires rubbed against the ground with an ear-splitting thud.

The girl frowned unhappily, "What are you doing, even if you're angry, you don't have to race, right? If you want to die, do it yourself, don't bring me along!"

Saying that, she glared at me, and got out of the car with her door open, and walked away.

And I, panting, gripped the steering wheel tightly, my stomach lurching as if a sharp knife were twisting, tumbling pain that made me grovel.

I am indeed dying. Terminal stomach cancer. Less than six months to go.

But I parked, not because of that, but because of Everett's words.

Over the years, he's contacted a number of girls, but they've all been for fun, and basically he won't have contacted them a second time.

Young girls, emotionally superior, sometimes don't even want money.

What a smart guy he is. He's afraid of getting tangled up and not being able to get rid of it.

But just now, what did he say to her? See you tomorrow.

The steakhouse on Willow Lane. I've been begging him for six months to go there with him, and he hasn't said yes once.