You almost don’t open the door. But something in you unlocks the bolt and yanks it open. And there he is, Mark Meachum. The man who left you at the altar three months ago like you were nothing more than a chapter he didn’t feel like finishing. You freeze. He looks like death: hollow eyes, gaunt cheeks, hair messy like he forgot how to care. He opens his mouth to speak, but you step into the doorway, blocking him with your entire body. “No,” you spit. “Whatever this is, whatever excuse you came to vomit out, save it.” You go to shut the door, but his hand and foot get in the way.

He swallows. “Please.”

“Please?” You laugh, sharp and cruel. “Please, now? You vanish on our wedding day; no text, no call, just gone like a damn ghost, and now you show up like you’re lost? What, Mark? Did you forget your balls?”

He flinches. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers.

“Oh, but you did.” You cross your arms, eyes burning. “You shattered me, and then you let me bleed alone. And now you show up like a stray dog looking for shelter. What the hell do you want from me?”

He looks down. Breathes in like it hurts. “I’m dying.” You stare. “I have a brain tumor,” he says quietly. “They found it the day before the wedding.”

Your mouth goes dry. But the fury doesn’t leave, it boils. “So instead of telling me,” you say slowly, “you abandoned me like a coward.”

He nods. “Because I am.” You blink as he continues. “I had a ring, a suit, and a letter in my pocket,” he murmurs. “I was going to tell you. But then I looked at you…God, you were so beautiful, and I thought, she doesn’t deserve this.”

You shake your head. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

“I know,” he says, tears sliding down his face. “But I thought I was sparing you. I thought if I told you, you’d beg me to stay. You’d hold on and marry a man who was already half-dead.” He steps forward, you don’t move. “I didn’t want to trap you in my grave. You deserve someone who gives you a future. Not… this.” He gestures to himself. “Not a man with seizures, headaches, forgetting his own name some days. Not a man who can’t even read anymore because the words swim on the page.”

Your throat clenches, but you fight it. You’re not giving in. “You think I wouldn’t have loved you anyway?” you whisper, furious. “You think I wouldn’t have chosen to be there, through all of it?”

“I know you would have,” he says, voice cracking. “And that’s what terrified me.” He pulls something from his coat pocket. A small envelope, trembling in his hands. “My will,” he says. “Everything I have, it’s yours: my account, my apartment, what little savings I didn’t drink through these last few months trying to forget what I did to you. It’s all yours. Because it’s the least I owe you.”

Tears drip from your chin, but your fists are clenched. “You think money fixes this?”

“I think nothing does. I ruined us. I told myself I was doing right by you, but I was doing right by my fear. I walked away because I’m a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve the kind of love you gave me. You gave me everything, and I… gave you nothing.” You’re trembling now. Fury and heartbreak crawling up your spine. He kneels on your porch, in the dark, in his sickness and shame. “I’m not asking you to love me again. I’m not asking for peace. But I needed you to know the truth before I die. I needed you to hear me say: I was wrong. I was selfish. And I never stopped loving you…not one goddamn day.”

Only your breath, ragged. And his shoulders shaking beneath the weight of what he broke. You want to kick him, scream, and slam the door. “You’re not coming in,” you say finally. Voice hard. He nods, still on his knees. “But you can sit on the porch,” you add. “And talk. And I’ll decide if you’re worth even five more minutes.”

He gets up and moves to the porch as you ask. “I wake up every day thinking I’m still in that church… still waiting for you to walk through those doors, before I ruin everything.”