My husband, Ronan Samford, was leaving on a "farewell trip" with his personal assistant, Abigail Michell.

Ignoring my colorless face, he said, "Honey, Abby has done so much for me. I can't marry her, and this is her only wish before she quits. Can't you just let me do this for her?"

"Ronan," I whispered, "would you still go if I told you that leaving now means never seeing me again?"

Then he grabbed me and slammed me to the ground.

A cold laugh escaped him.

"So what if I'll never see you again? I couldn't care less. Stop being dramatic."

I watched him walk away, my heart shattering.

He had no idea that I only had three months left to live.

***

Ronan's resolute figure faded into the distance.

I still sat on the floor, staring into space.

When sticky blood started seeping from my knees, I finally felt the pain.

"Ouch..." I cried out.

My knees were a mess of torn skin and blood.

A dull, throbbing ache spread through my whole body.

The doctor said that in these final months, even minor pains would feel intensely magnified.

What would be a slight discomfort for most people became an excruciating agony for me.

I used every bit of strength to push myself up, shuffling back into the house like a stray dog.

A deep weariness settled over me. I didn't feel like doing anything.

I just let the blood dry on my skin and sat there, motionless, until dusk.

The ringtone of my phone finally jolted me back to reality.

"Latonya, have you made up your mind?" the doctor's voice came through. "The chemotherapy will be very painful, and it's not guaranteed to extend your time.

"Honestly, I'd recommend palliative care. Don't waste your final days on a hospital bed, staring at your loved ones' sad faces.

"You should discuss this with your husband."

The doctor's voice trailed off, tinged with sadness and pity.

My mind slowly cleared.

"Thanks, but I won't be doing the chemotherapy."

My initial plan had been to endure the brutal treatment, to fight for more time.

I'd been worried about Ronan falling apart when he learned about my impending death.

But now, it seemed I'd overestimated my importance.

Sometimes, facing the harsh truth makes things simpler.

With no one left in this world who truly cared for me, why waste medical resources?

I struggled to my feet, disinfected the wounds, and bandaged them myself.

While washing my hands, I caught my reflection in the mirror and froze.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd bothered to take care of my appearance.

I used to care so much about how I looked.

In just six months, the cancer had stolen all my vitality.

I looked like a completely different person.

The day I got my diagnosis six months ago, I felt like I was plunged into the abyss of despair.

I called Ronan, who hadn't been home in over two weeks.

But he was at a gala with Abigail.

He hissed into the phone, impatient and angry, "Latonya, are you ever going to stop? Don't you know I'm busy? Do you have to bother me with every little thing? Can't you handle anything yourself? I provide everything for you. The least you can do is be reasonable!"

In the background, I heard Abigail's chuckles.

She said in a honeyed tone, "Mr. Samford, Ms. Tinsley must be so bored stuck at home all day. Don't be so harsh. You'll hurt her feelings."

That had been my wake-up call.

After seven years of marriage, he'd grown tired of me—so tired that whether I lived or died didn't seem to matter to him anymore.

"Never mind. Ronan, I'd set you free soon enough.

This would be our final goodbye.

People never really know how much they can handle until they're pushed to the edge.

Somehow, over one long night, I made my peace with dying.

I gave myself a proper skincare routine, and my complexion finally looked a little better.

A small sense of comfort settled over me.

For my last days, I didn't want to look too terrible.

After months of restless nights, I fell asleep surprisingly fast that night.

In my dream, I was running, chasing the blurred figures of a man and a woman ahead.

I felt this urgent need to see their faces clearly.

I finally saw them turn, just as I was completely spent.

The man, his features cold, pulled the woman into a protective embrace.

He stared at me with pure disgust.

A wave of profound sadness washed over me, jolting me awake.

Even now, when I was awake, my heart still raced with fear.

The clock read 2 AM.

I checked my phone and saw a WhatsApp friend request.

Curious, I accepted it.

Immediately, I received a video from this very account.

The background looked like a noisy nightclub.

Ronan laughed, trying to dodge the camera with a helpless look.

"Okay, stop messing around. I brought you to your favorite spot, didn't I? What do you need me on camera for anyway?"

Abigail teasingly chased him with the phone camera, aiming at him as he moved.

"No way! I finally have you all to myself. I want to keep your image in my phone forever, so I can look at you whenever I miss you."

Her voice choked with emotion.

Ronan paused, his expression full of distress as he looked at her.

He gave her a resigned smile.

"Abby, we met at the wrong time. I can't hold you back. I'd endure anything just to see you happy."

The last frame showed Abigail melting into his arms.

He held her tightly, his embrace filled with a tenderness I had never, ever received from him.

The regret and sorrow on his face felt like a physical blow.

So, I was the villain standing between these "lovers."

No wonder fate was ready to take me away.

I closed the video with a bitter laugh.

The WhatsApp account was obviously Abigail's.

She just couldn't help but rub it in my face.

Abigail had joined Ronan's company a year ago.

She was a graduate from a top university, tall, with a face full of youthful energy.

Young and inexperienced, she looked up to Ronan with pure admiration.

What man could easily resist that, especially when his own marriage had grown stale over the years?

Ronan became unprecedentedly "busy" with work.

He started taking this young assistant on business trips everywhere.

He came home less often, and when he did, he was always glued to his phone.

Calls from Abigail frequently reached our home.

At first, it was about work, then it turned into casual chats.

He even started asking her for advice on matching his clothes.

Slowly, there was nothing left for me to take care of—all the things I used to handle were now her job.

Once, I couldn't hold back and asked about it, but he just got annoyed.

"Abby has good taste. What's wrong with me asking her? You stay cooped up at home all day. What could you possibly know about style?

"Stop being so paranoid. It's annoying."

Years as a housewife must have worn down all my edges, leaving me timid.

Hearing that enough, I started to disgust myself, so I stopped asking.

I just swallowed the hurt.

Now that I thought about it, all that overthinking probably worsened my anxiety.

It was probably one of the reasons I got sick.

Feeling lost and numb, I fell back asleep.

The next morning, I went to the hospital for one last check-up.

The doctor looked at me with pity.

"Are you sure about traveling? You don't have much time left. You might ... pass away far from home with no family around."

The word "family" made me think of my parents, long buried, and my husband, currently tending to another woman.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

"I have no family left, Dr. Luther.

"I've never had the chance to see much of this beautiful country. Wherever I end up, it'll be a good place to rest. I have no regrets."

Holden Luther prescribed me a sufficient supply of medication.

He went over the instructions again and again, his worry evident.

He walked me to the elevator, his face still etched with deep concern.

As I thought about the past year of treatment, a sudden wave of emotion hit me.

Since I got sick, Holden, who owed me nothing, had cared for me the most.

He'd been like a father and a friend.

I looked at him, my eyes burning.

Words of thanks felt empty.

Thus, I bowed deeply to him.

His lips trembled, like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just forced a smile and waved at me, watching me step into the elevator.

Back home, I set about clearing out all of my belongings from the house.

I didn't have much stuff.

After marrying Ronan, all my attention had been on him.

I'd barely bought anything for myself since.

He'd occasionally tease me, "Honey, we're not that hard up. Even if you spent more, I could afford it. Don't be such a penny-pincher."

He'd even gotten me a supplementary credit card, urging me to go shopping sometimes.

I was touched by his thoughtfulness, but I never used it, not once.

Before leaving, I placed the card and my wedding ring on the coffee table.

Every trace of me was now erased from the house.

I took one last look at the small home I'd lived in for seven years.

We'd bought this place with a mortgage when we got married.

After his business took off, Ronan suggested moving to a bigger place several times, but I could never bring myself to leave.

I was just a nostalgic person.

Now, a genuine pang of sadness finally hit me.

Saying goodbye isn't easy.

Just as I closed the door, my phone rang.

It was Ronan calling.

"Honey, sorry, I drank too much last night and forgot to check in. What are you up to?"

Checking in was a habit we'd kept since we started dating.

I'd always insisted we let each other know we were safe, no matter where we were.

"You don't need to do that anymore."

His voice dropped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I was struggling for a response when our neighbor from across the door happened to step out.

She asked, surprised, "Mrs. Samford, are you going on a trip?"

Then, Ronan's voice took on an angry edge.

"Where are you going? Why are you always so competitive? Abby wants to go on a trip, so you have to do it, too? I don't get why you've been so unreasonable lately.

"You want to compare yourself to her? Fine. I'll play along. Let's see how far you take this."

He hung up in anger.

Strangely, I felt a wave of relief.

I didn't care what he thought.

It saved me the trouble of making up an excuse.

Half an hour later, I was at the airport.

I bought a ticket for the next flight to Asheville.

It wasn't peak travel season, so the airport wasn't too crowded.

Asheville had always been a place I wanted to visit.

Having grown up in the north, I'd always harbored romantic notions about the south.

I'd begged Ronan to take me there for our honeymoon.

But back then, his company was just starting up, and he was swamped with endless social events and cases.

He'd looked exhausted, pleading with me, "Honey, I'm just so tired. Cut me some slack, okay? Once the company is stable, I'll take you anywhere you want. Just wait for me."

Back then, I'd buried my face in his chest, thinking that as long as I was with him, the place didn't matter.

We could go later.

Yet, after seven years of waiting, he was going on that trip with another woman.

Fate was playing a cruel joke on me.

I turned to the window and shook off the gloomy thoughts.

The blue sky above the airport surprisingly lifted my mood.

My phone rang just as the airport announced boarding for my flight.

I glanced down. It was from Ronan again.