During this period, Sabrina kept up her morning runs and went to hot yoga on weekends. Perhaps it was really helping—those persistent, recurring dreams hadn't appeared for a long time.
Life felt calm and steady. Without the intrusion of dreams, she felt almost weightless, as if she could float. Occasionally, she even wondered whether the endless dreams she had experienced before were simply illusions born of accumulated stress.
She had also begun speaking less in Frank's group chat, deliberately keeping her distance. She didn't want to be pulled back into dreams, didn't want to be trapped by those hazy, tangled images. Her current life was pleasant, relaxing, almost blissful.
Over the weekend, a friend of Clara's had opened a new restaurant—a fusion of Chinese and Mexican cuisine. The friend invited everyone to try the dishes, and Sabrina and Vivian planned to go Saturday evening.
The restaurant was modernly decorated, with soft lighting and an aroma that mingled chili and Sichuan pepper. That evening, they met Clara's boyfriend, Eric.
He was delicate-looking, a mix of Chinese and Korean heritage, and spoke fluent Mandarin. His father was Chinese, his mother Korean. He had lived in China for a while as a child. Now he worked at Oracle, a typical IT professional—gentle, reserved, and composed.
As the dinner drew to a close, Clara suddenly mentioned her plan to hike the Camino de Santiago with Eric this summer. Before she was born, her parents had already completed two stretches: Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port → Roncesvalles → Zubiri, and Zubiri → Pamplona → Puente la Reina. She remembered walking the path with her parents as a child, passing vineyards under the blazing sun, the air rich with the scent of fruit.
"I hope to finish the remaining part of the trail," she said. "We've roughly scheduled the dates."
She glanced at Eric. He smiled faintly and nodded.
Sitting beside Sabrina, Clara's posture naturally leaned closer as she spoke. Vivian teased, "You two together—it's like sisters, yet like mother and daughter." Even Eric laughed, agreeing, "It really is like that."
The intimacy felt natural, as if some soft tether flowed quietly between them.
Sabrina listened silently, watching them discuss routes to Santiago de Compostela. The restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clinking of glasses punctuating the background. For some reason, she felt a gentle tug in a corner of her heart.
The path. Summer. Vineyards.
Though the recurring dreams had faded, something seemed to be approaching in another form.
Meanwhile, Hongmei was hospitalized again, and Michael's life once more became a rigid three-point circuit: AXA, MSKCC, home. Every day was a repeating loop, like a track with no exit.
After this round of treatment, Hongmei's hair had fallen out entirely again, and she looked even weaker, barely able to eat. Maria tried endlessly to prepare dishes that might tempt her appetite, but it was mostly in vain.
Hongmei no longer cooperated as before. She seemed to have made peace with the future.
This resignation weighed heavily on Michael. Yet every time he entered her room, he forced himself to compose, to maintain calm in front of her, to encourage her, to remind her that hope still existed.
But Hongmei seemed to no longer believe in the word "cure."
She began quietly organizing her affairs, piece by piece. She left some of her cherished jewelry to Clara, arranged other items for their mother and sister, methodically and clearly.
She had little expectation of recovery. She told Michael that if the day ever came when she left them, she hoped half of her ashes could be sent back to China, to rest with family.
Every time Michael heard this, his heart sank. He couldn't accept that it might become reality. In his mind, he clung to a single vision—that Hongmei would recover, and the three of them would live like an ordinary family.
But reason kept reminding him that this dream might be unrealistic.
After discussing with Hongmei's primary physician, Michael realized that the chances of recovery were slim.
That night, he called Li Hua.
He said Hongmei might not have much time left and urged her to prepare herself mentally.
Silence stretched long on the other end…
The room was quiet late into the night, almost so still that one could hear every breath.
That night, Sabrina suddenly woke from sleep. In her dream, Hongmei's emaciated, pale face and frail body kept appearing. The repeated images weighed heavily on her heart, accompanied by throbbing headaches. She took an Advil and lay back down, only to find the dream returning once more.
Meanwhile, Li Hua and Haitao's cold war had continued for over two months. Haitao had been returning home very late, and each phone call was brief: "I'm stuck at the hospital, you all eat first, don't wait for me."
During this period, Li Hua's mood was low. She recalled that the last time she and Haitao had been intimate was half a year ago. Since having children, their physical intimacy had obviously decreased. She didn't dwell on this much, recognizing it as the norm for many families after children arrive. Her trust in Haitao hadn't wavered either.
Haitao had studied for his master's degree at Capital Medical University and interned at Li Hua's father's department in Tiantan Hospital. Her father recognized his abilities and thought highly of him. They met when her father brought Haitao to their home. Both sets of parents were impressed—Haitao, a young man from a small southern town, appeared solid and reliable. Their courtship, marriage, and family life seemed straightforward and smooth. Haitao later formally joined Tiantan Hospital.
In Li Hua's eyes, a young man from a small town gave the impression of being stable and dependable; the family's future should be secure. Reality proved otherwise. Her mother had occasionally heard rumors from her father's former colleagues that Haitao might have had a close, possibly inappropriate, relationship with a young female doctor. Whenever her mother visited, she would subtly warn Haitao and Li Hua to cherish their family, emphasizing the three obedient children and the importance of maintaining harmony.
Now, with Hongmei's worsening condition requiring another hospitalization, Li Hua was deeply shaken. Her energy was split—caring for the children while worrying about Hongmei—leaving no space to address the cold war with Haitao. She lacked the mental bandwidth to mediate the couple's conflict. Haitao still came home late. Li Hua felt frustrated but mostly powerless, enduring silently…