The doctor's expression remained unchanged.
"Honestly, during the half month you've been sleeping, I've been questioning if my treatment makes any sense; letting you die on the operating table seemed not bad at all. It's a pity you woke up, now you have to face it all."
He poured a glass of wine and turned to hand it to John.
Offering this to a patient just recovering from a serious illness said a lot.
John didn't refuse, he downed half of it, and his gaze changed.
He couldn't taste anything.
"Don't thank me, and don't blame me."
Ryan could guess his symptoms.
John chuckled, raised his glass to clink with his, suppressing the acidic stomach contents and unspoken words.
Only ten days to live.
John, however, was unexpectedly calm.
He had already lost his awe of death, felt no regret, perhaps was completely numb.
"Having a definite end date isn't too bad."
Ryan continued to express his downfall philosophy of life.
