Is 'Beat Cancer Kitchen' Worth Reading For Cancer Patients?

When Manhattan’s most successful billionaire, Alessio Castelli, hires me to be his personal cook, I’m determined not to fall for him. Too bad he’s simply too hot to resist. He says I’m not his type, but he watches me like I’m his next obsession… and when his control finally snaps, he claims me as his, unable to stay away from me. What starts as temptation quickly turns into something far more dangerous; because men like Alessio don’t love. They possess. Just when I begin to believe I might mean more to him than a secret in his bed, a previous lover from his past returns… pregnant and claiming the child is his. Now I’m trapped between the man who refuses to let me go and the kind of heartbreak that will ruin me for good, because I’m already hopelessly in love with him. And the worst part? Walking away from him might be harder than staying.

The day my mother-in-law discovered she had uterine cancer, she packed up and moved in to our home. “I don’t have much time left. I’m all out of hope!” she choked out. “You’d be cruel to kick me out. Show me some mercy!” I looked at my speechless husband, then at my beloved son I had raised with so much love and care. I asked them, "What do you guys think?" My husband silently made a grim expression and grabbed my arm. “How long are you going to hold on to that little incident that happened after Everett was born? Mom's already so sick." My son echoed his sentiment, “Grandma doesn't have much time left. Of course we have to take good care of her!" I smiled at them and said, “Alright. You guys can take care of her if you love her so much."

I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, so I went online to hire an undertaker in the hopes that he would collect my body. That way, I could die and be buried. I would like to finally be at peace, even if it meant that I could only achieve it after death. I packed up my bags and left home in search of a place to die, only to receive a message from my undertaker. [Sorry, something came up. I can’t come now.] …Excuse me? I’m already half-dead, and you’re blowing me off?

When my wife, Rebecca Walsh, misses my chemotherapy session for the 99th time, I come across a post on social media. "I won my lover's heart with a kidney. She will surely love me to death, right?" The attached photo shows a couple kissing on a street in Targon. The woman has a small heart-shaped scar on her neck. What a coincidence—it is exactly the same as Rebecca's. The woman who nearly dies for me falls in love with someone else so easily. The comments below are full of encouragement from strangers. "Man, you're so brave. Wishing you everlasting love." "If I were the woman, I would love you to death." I leave a comment too. "I hope you are together until you are in the depths of hell, you cheating pair. As for me, the husband, I will step aside to make way for you." One minute later, the post disappears. It doesn't matter. I post on my own account. I write, "After I spent three years battling cancer, my wife fell in love with the man who's supposed to be the kidney donor." The attached images are our marriage certificate and the same photo of them kissing from earlier.

When my wife, Rosalie Wood, had her first meal after she regained consciousness, the attending doctor, Ethan Joeman, took my seat. He cut the steak while he pointed at her rosy face and looked at me with open defiance. “Do you know how medical miracles happen? It is not because of your constant presence. It is because of my in‑depth treatment.” My fingers that held the knife and fork turned pale. Ethan grew even more brazen. His feet rubbed against my wife's calves under the table. “A person in a vegetative state can still feel things. Every night after you left, I did awakening therapy for her. She said her body could not move, yet the sense of being conquered made her feel as though her soul left her body. She woke up because she wanted to feel it again. Last night, she said she wanted to thank her savior and asked me to check her firmness after recovery. She did not disappoint me.” I looked at Rosalie, who stared at the doctor with admiration, and my chest tightened. To pay for her treatment, I sold my house and car. I slept on a folding bed in this hospital for three years. I bathed her and turned her over every day. It turned out that my three years of round‑the‑clock care meant nothing compared to a few acts of harassment committed while she was vulnerable. I took a drug from my bag and smiled as I poured Ethan a glass of wine. I thought, ‘You went through a lot, yet her awakening was only a brief moment of clarity before death. She has super‑drug‑resistant syphilis. Congratulations. You caught it too.’

I'm diagnosed with late-stage cancer after undergoing a pre-employment medical checkup. My husband says the medication for my condition is expensive. He also says it can only relieve my pain, not treat the cause. I only have a year to live. Upon my husband's pleading, I agree to do an IVF. I endure the pain and put myself through torture to leave him with a child. However, I overhear him saying the child growing inside me isn't mine—it's his and his lover's. He's the one who wants me dead!