He couldnt stand his wife. Theyd been together fifteen years. Fifteen whole years of seeing her every morning, and in the last year, every little habit of hers had started grating on him. Especially oneshed stretch her arms out while still in bed and say, “Good morning, love! Todays going to be lovely.” It shouldve been harmless, but her thin arms and her puffy, sleep-swollen face filled him with disgust.
Shed get up, walk to the window, and stare into the distance for a few seconds. Then shed slip off her nightdress and head to the bathroom. Back when they were first married, hed adored her body, her carefree spirit that sometimes crossed the line of propriety. Even now, she was still slender, but the sight of her irritated him. Once, hed even wanted to shove her just to hurry her along, but he clenched his fists and just snapped, “Hurry up, Ive had enough of this!”
She wasnt in a rush to live. She knew about his affairhad even met the woman hed been seeing for nearly three years. Time had buried the wounds to her pride, leaving only a sad trail of feeling unwanted. She forgave his aggression, his indifference, his desperate longing to relive his youth. But she refused to let anyone steal her peaceshe lived deliberately, cherishing every minute.
That was how she chose to live after learning she was ill. The disease was eating her up, month by month, and soon it would win. At first, she wanted to tell everyoneshare the burden, lighten the load. But she endured the worst days alone, coming to terms with the end in silence. Her life was slipping away, yet each day brought a quiet wisdom, like an observer watching from afar.
She found solace in the little librarya ninety-minute journey, but every day shed weave through the narrow aisles under a sign the old librarian had labeled “Secrets of Life and Death,” searching for a book that might hold all the answers.
Meanwhile, he went to his mistress. Everything there was bright, warm, familiar. Three years theyd been meeting, and all that time, hed “loved” her in a way that was anything but healthyjealous, guilty, unable to breathe when he wasnt near her youthful body. Today, he arrived with a decision: “Im leaving my wife. Why torture all three of us? I dont love herI hate her.” A new happiness would start here. He pulled his wifes photo from his wallet and tore it to shreds, as if that sealed it.
Theyd arranged to meet at the restaurant where, six months earlier, theyd celebrated their fifteenth anniversary. She arrived first. Hed stopped home first, rummaging through drawers for divorce papers. In one, he found a dark blue folder. Never seen it before. He tore off the tape, expecting some kind of dirt on himbut instead, it was full of medical reports, test results, official documentsall stamped with her name.
The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, cold sweat drenching his back. She was sick. He frantically Googled the diagnosis. The screen flashed back at him: “6 to 18 months.” He checked the datessix months had already passed. His mind went blank. One phrase looped in his head: “6 to 18 months.”
Autumn was beautifulthe sun warm but not scorching. “How strange, how wonderful life is,” she thought. For the first time since learning of her illness, she felt a pang of pity for herself.
She walked, watching people laughwinter was coming, and after that, spring. Shed never feel any of it again. The hurt swelled inside her and burst out in a flood of tears.
He paced the room like a madman. For the first time, he truly grasped how fleeting everything was. He remembered her youngback when theyd just married, full of hope. He *had* loved her once. Suddenly, all of it felt lostfifteen years, as if theyd never happened. Like everythinghappiness, youth, lifewas still ahead.
In those last days, he hovered over her, never leaving her side, and felt an odd kind of happiness. Terrified of losing her, hed have given anything just to keep her. If someone had reminded him that a month ago, hed hated her and dreamed of divorce, hed have said, “That wasnt me.”
He saw how hard she fought, how she cried at night thinking he was asleep. He understood there was no crueler sentence than knowing your own end. He watched her cling to the tiniest scrap of hope.
She died two months later. He lined the path from their house to the graveyard with flowers. Sobbed like a child as they lowered the coffin. Aged a decade in weeks.
At home, under her pillow, he found a notea New Years wish shed written: “To be happy with him until the end of my days.” They say New Years wishes come true. Maybe its truebecause that same year, he wrote: “To be free.”
Everyone got what they truly wantedas if it had all been arranged by their own deepest desires.
