He Once Called Me His Rose

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I had a secret rose birthmark. At nineteen, I gave myself to my uncle Jack while drunk. The night stayed with me, but the next day he told me the family business had failed and he had ALS.

I left the military to care for him. I sold my house, borrowed money, and struggled for five years. Debt collectors hurt me, but I saved every coin to extend his life.

One day at work, I saw Jack in a smart uniform, talking happily with friends. He was supposed to be in a wheelchair.

A comrade said he had faked his illness for five years, and I had nearly destroyed myself to help him.

Jack replied coldly that he did it to discipline me for not being kind to Monica. He planned a fake recovery to send me back to the military, believing I had learned my lesson. He thought I would believe anything he said.

I stood there in silence, tears falling.

There would be no later for us.

His disease was a lie, but I was truly broken.

.......

Outside, the cold wind bit at me. It was freezing.

I stood rooted to the spot, a senseless puppet, enduring the slow agony of five years of shattered faith.

Each cut tore at my flesh and blood.

Jacks comrade, Lincoln, sighed. "Honestly, you're truly heartless. That's the child you raised yourself, the youngest ace sniper in the military district. She retired just because you told her to, and at just twenty-something, she's worn out like an old woman. A few days ago, she even asked me for a loan, needing eight hundred dollars for your imported medicine."

Jack's face immediately darkened. "You lent it?"

Lincoln shook his head helplessly. "You gave strict orders, how would I dare? The girl stood outside my dorm for an entire afternoon, fainted from low blood sugar, and I still didn't dare help her up. When she finally woke, she walked away, leaning against the wall."

What Lincoln didn't say was, that day, I held my service pistol to my temple.

I said, "Uncle Lincoln, there's one bullet left in the chamber. If you don't lend me the money, I'll pull the trigger."

Jack's medicine had been interrupted for seven days; he coughed up bloody phlegm from his lungs.

But Lincoln just bit his lip, his eyes red, and disarmed me, pushing me out the door as if I were a plague.

Turns out, he didn't want to lend it, he couldn't.

Jack snorted coldly. "Listen closely. Until Monica returns from her recuperation in the capital, no one is to help Seraphina. Whether she kneels or begs, even if she dies in front of you, don't even spare her a glance."

"Monica is sensitive, her depression has just improved. The 'punishment' for Seraphina for these five years, not a single day less. If anyone makes Monica unhappy, don't blame me for being ruthless."

The private room fell silent.

Someone awkwardly reminded him, "Commander, aren't you afraid Seraphina will find out the truth and be heartbroken?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth, Jack sneered, "Heartbroken? I raised her, I gave her life, what's a little hardship? Monica is different; she has no family, suffered so much. It's only right that I treat her well."

His gaze swept the room. "What's said here today, if even a word reaches Seraphina's ears outside this room, don't blame me for abandoning old ties."

I leaned against the cold wall, my hands and feet numb.

Turns out, these five years I risked my life for were nothing but a meticulously arranged torture.

My future, my honor, merely required a slight frown from Monica to become a casual "it's only right" from Jack.

I wanted to laugh, but a metallic, rusty taste surged in my throat.

A phone rang in the private room, and footsteps approached the door.

I had no time to hide. As I hastily turned, I bumped into the manager delivering drinks.

The bottle of military-issue liquor on the tray shattered.

The manager's face changed drastically, and he slapped me across the face.

The private room door opened, and Jack quickly stepped out, but without even glancing my way, he opened his arms directly and caught Monica as she rushed into them.

"How did you come back by yourself? Didn't we agree I'd pick you up?"

Monica's laugh was clear and sweet. "I missed you, Jack! Wanted to surprise you!"

I wore a mask, kneeling on the cold marble floor, less than a meter away from them.

Monica's dazzling diamond watch strap stung my reddened eyes.

One of those tiny diamonds alone would be enough for three months of Jack's imported medicine.

The manager approached cautiously. "Commander Sterling, I'm so sorry... this drink, this idiot broke it."

Black military boots stopped in front of me.

Jack frowned impatiently. "Alright."

He pointed at me. "Since you broke it, clean this carpet by hand. If Monica steps on even a shard of glass, you'll swallow it, piece by piece."

I knelt down, moving my palms slowly across the carpet.

Broken glass pierced my skin, leaving delicate streaks of blood.

Monica let out a soft "hiss," linking her arm through Jack's. "Jack, my feet are tired."

"You're delicate. I'll carry you out. It's dirty here."

The black military boots stepped over my hand, moving away without a pause.

I knelt there, staring at my bloodied palm, and suddenly let out a low laugh.

Tears mixed with warm fluid from my nose, dripping down together.

The manager gasped. "What's wrong with you? So much blood?"

I stumbled to my feet, wiping my face haphazardly with my sleeve.

The cuff instantly turned red.

"Maybe... I'm dying."

Ignoring his startled expression, I turned, letting the blood drip behind me, forming a broken red line as I slowly shuffled out.

Pushing open the front door, the sound of porcelain shattering came from the kitchen.

Jack was struggling to prop himself up with his arms, trying to get out of the overturned wheelchair.

Seeing me, his movements froze, he lowered his head, his eyes quickly reddening. "Seraphina... I just wanted to warm you a cup of milk... I'm so useless... just a cripple..."

His speech was slurred, drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, accompanied by trembling hands and desperate eyes, looking exactly like an ALS patient tormented by illness for years.

I suddenly remembered that before his "diagnosis," Jack had severe germophobia.

A man who meticulously wiped his service pistol three times a day, whose uniform couldn't have a single crease, could, for Monica, play this sloppy, suffering act for five years.

At this moment, I almost wanted to cut open his chest with a knife to see if his heart was made of stone.

Seeing me silent, he slumped his shoulders in despair. "Seraphina... do you despise me now? Just leave... don't bother with me anymore..."

I silently walked over, righted the wheelchair, and helped him into it.

Then, I fetched warm water to clean him up.

He suddenly gripped my wrist, his gaze falling on my bloody, mangled palm. "How did this happen? Who hurt you?"

I stared into his feigned anxiety. "Someone very much like you hurt me."

"At the Grand Imperial Hotel."

Jack's jaw tightened abruptly.

I smiled again. "But I know that wasn't you. Jack would never lie to me, right?"

Jack's gaze darted away. "Of course not. Seraphina is the most important person to me, I'd never lie to you."

I fiercely suppressed the bitterness in my eyes, then turned and pushed him out of the kitchen.

After preparing and serving dinner, the living room was empty.

The bedroom door was ajar, and hushed voices drifted out. "Good girl, Monica, I've prepared a big surprise for you tomorrow, a special birthday celebration."

On the other end of the line, Monica's voice was sweet and soft. "But tomorrow... it's also Seraphina's birthday, isn't it? Won't she be sad if you don't spend it with her?"

"Silly girl. You're the most important treasure to me. Seraphina stopped celebrating her birthday ages ago, she's used to it."

Monica cheered. "I knew you were the best, Jack!"

I stood by the door for a long time.

Finally, I silently untied my apron and turned to leave.

When Jack wheeled himself out, the house was already empty.

On the dining table lay a bowl of noodle soup and an imported pill wrapped in foil.

Usually by this time, I would have left for my night shift.

His mind flashed back to my bloodless face, the grotesque wounds on my palm, and that spine so thin it looked like it would snap in two...

A sudden, inexplicable panic seized his heart.

He picked up his phone and quickly dialed a number.

The next day, at the Military District Hospital.

I took Jack for a re-examination.

The attending physician's expression was excited. "Miss Shen! A research institute in the capital has a special medicine that works wonders for ALS! I've secured a trial spot for Commander Sterling!"

Compared to his excitement, I merely asked calmly, "What's the recovery rate?"

"Over eighty percent!"

Jack obligingly reddened his eyes. "Seraphina... I can get better... I can continue to be with you..."

I forced a faint smile. "If only one of us could live, Jack, I would always hope it was you."

Jack was stunned, his brows deeply furrowed. "Nonsense! We'll both live well. Once I recover and return to the forces, you'll still be the proudest sniper in the military district"

But I no longer wanted this "pride."

Nor did I want Jack anymore.

The doctor, citing "complex examination procedures," politely asked me to leave the office.

I knew it was just an excuse to get rid of me.

I stood at the corner of the hallway, watching Jack quickly change out of his hospital gown and walk steadily into the elevator.

Downstairs, the familiar black military sedan had been waiting for a long time.

I silently withdrew my gaze and turned to walk into another consultation room at the end of the hallway.

"Miss Shen, your brain tumor has already compressed major nerves, and surgery is no longer an option."

The doctor sighed heavily. "Perhaps half a month ago... there might have been hope. It's likely... just these last couple of days. Say your goodbyes to your family."

I sat quietly for a long time before slowly nodding.

"After I die, please have me cremated directly. My ashes... please send them to the Sterling Family Residence in West Hill Military District, to Commander Jack Sterling."

Leaving the only money I had on me, I walked out of the hospital.

My phone screen lit up, a new message popped up: "Come to the family residence and take a look."

The sender was Monica.

I hailed a cab and went to the West Hill Family Residence.

Five years. The single-family house in the military district compound, which I thought had long since changed hands, was now brightly lit, adorned like a fairytale castle.

Guests filled the house, elegantly dressed.

Monica, wearing a diamond-studded tiara and a pristine white haute couture gown, clung tightly to Jack's arm.

They were surrounded by people, standing before a six-tier cake.

She clasped her hands together, her voice sweet: "My wish is to be Jack's only little princess, forever and ever."

Jack smiled, taking a dark blue velvet box from his military uniform pocket.

The moment the box opened.

All the blood in my body felt as if it had frozen instantly.