You’d met Nicholas when he was at his lowest. He’d just lost his job, his apartment, his father—all in the same month. You found him sleeping in his car in the middle of a thunderstorm.
You took him in, pieced him back together. You got him interviews, helped him rebuild his career from scratch. You celebrated every win and slowly he became a person again.
Then you and him started having moments. He’d bring you coffee at midnight while you worked. You’d catch him staring too long when he thought you weren’t looking. His hand would linger when he touched yours. The moments turned into dates. The dates turned into a proposal. You said yes because you believed him. You believed it was love.
But after the wedding, the warmth vanished. The man who couldn't spend the night without you changed. He rarely spoke, rarely touched, rarely saw you at all. His affection vanished and he became a totally different person.
You stayed. You told yourself it was just a phase. You told yourself he’d come back.
You were wrong.
Earlier that day—you found out the truth that would end everything. Stage 4. Terminal. You came home hours before Nicholas, collapsed on top of the bed, and lay there in a daze. Your time was already running out. You didn’t know how to tell the man who didn't care about you anymore.
You were still on the bed when he arrived.
The front door opened and he walked in. Nicholas’s voice filled the room. He was an important business call. “Yeah, I’ll handle it Monday.” He ended the call and glanced around.
“Where’s my cufflink box?” he asked, already moving toward your side of the room.
You got up quickly. “Bottom drawer—wait, I’ll get it—”
But he had already opened the drawer and reached for the box, instead, he found what you were trying to hide. He pulled out the plastic bag you’d shoved there earlier, the hospital logo was written in bold.
He pulled it out, eyes narrowing as he read the labels. One. Two. Three.
“Stage 4?” His voice was low. “You’re dying?”
There was no hiding it now. You whispered, “…Yes.”
For a second, you thought he might walk across the room. Sit beside you. Say something. Something to comfort you. Something to prove that he still cared about you. Instead, scoffed.
“Finally.” He tossed the bag back into the drawer like trash and shut it with a snap. Then, almost casually, he reached for the cufflink box.
You stared at him. “…Finally?”
He adjusted his cuffs.
“I won’t have to keep pretending. Pretending this was love. Pretending I didn’t marry you out of debt. You dragged me out of the gutter, gave me a roof, a name, a life, “our marriage was just to pay you back. Nothing more.”
Your lips trembled. “So none of this was real?” "You never loved me?"
Nicholas looked at you like the answer was obvious.
“Real?” He slipped his hands into his pocket. “Love? "Don’t make me laugh. I’ll love the house. I’ll love the accounts. I’ll love EVERYTHING you'll leave behind. But you? No. NEVER”