He couldnt stand his wife. Theyd spent fifteen years together. Fifteen whole years of seeing her every morning, and for the last year, every little habit of hers had started to drive him mad. Especially oneshed stretch her arms out in bed, still half-asleep, and say, Good morning, sunshine! Todays going to be lovely. On the surface, it was harmless, but her bony arms and puffy morning face filled him with disgust.
Shed get up, walk to the window, and stare into the distance for a few seconds. Then shed peel off her nightgown and head to the bathroom. Once, early in their marriage, hed adored her body, her carefree spirit that sometimes crossed the line. Even now, she was still slender, but the sight of her irritated him. Once, he even thought of shoving her to speed up her morning routine, but he gritted his teeth and just snapped, Hurry up, Im sick of waiting!
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 quiet sadness, the ache of being unwanted. She forgave his temper, his indifference, his desperate grasp at reliving his youth. But she wouldnt let anyone steal her peaceshe lived deliberately, savouring every moment.
Shed made that choice the day she found out she was ill. The disease was eating her month by month, and soon, it would win. At first, she wanted to tell everyoneshare the burden, ease the weight. But the hardest days she faced alone, coming to terms with the end, and she resolved to stay silent. Her life was slipping away, but each day brought a quiet wisdom, the clarity of an observer.
She found solace in a tiny libraryan hour and a half journey, but every day shed weave through the cramped aisles, past a sign the elderly librarian had labelled Secrets of Life and Death, searching for a book that might hold all the answers.
Meanwhile, he went to his lover. Everything there was bright, warm, familiar. Theyd been together three years, and all that time, hed loved her in a twisted wayjealous, guilty, suffocating whenever he was away from her young body. Today, he arrived with a decision: Im leaving her. Why torture all three of us? I dont love my wifeI hate her. A new happiness would begin here. He pulled a photo of his wife from his wallet and tore it to shreds, a show of resolve.
Theyd agreed to meet at the restaurant where theyd celebrated their fifteenth anniversary just six months before. She arrived first. Hed stopped home beforehand, rummaging through drawers for divorce papers. In one, he found a dark blue folder hed never seen. He ripped off the tape, bracing for some kind of evidence against himbut instead, it was stuffed with medical reports, test results, official certificatesall bearing her name.
The realisation hit him like a bolt of lightning, cold sweat prickling down his back. She was sick. He frantically searched the diagnosis online. The screen flashed a brutal sentence: Six to eighteen months. He checked the datessix months had already passed since the tests. His mind went blank except for one repeating phrase: Six to eighteen months.
Autumn was beautifulthe sun gentle, warming the soul. What a strange, what a beautiful life, she thought. For the first time since her diagnosis, she felt a pang of pity for herself.
She walked, watching people laughwinter was coming, then spring. Shed never feel that again. The sorrow swelled inside her until it spilled over in tears.
He paced the room, struck for the first time by how fleeting everything was. He remembered her youngjust married, full of hope. He *had* loved her once. Suddenly, it all felt lost: fifteen years, as if theyd never happened. It felt like everything still lay aheadhappiness, youth, life…
In her final days, he barely left her side, overwhelmed by a strange, desperate happiness. He was terrified of losing her, ready to give anything for more time. If anyone reminded him that just a month ago, hed hated his wife and dreamed of divorce, hed have said, That wasnt me.
He saw how hard she fought to let go, how she cried at night thinking he was asleep. He understood there was no crueller punishment than knowing your end date. He watched her cling to the faintest sliver of hope.
She died two months later. He lined the path from their house to the cemetery with flowers. Sobbed like a child as they lowered the coffin, aged ten years overnight.
At home, under her pillow, he found a noteher New Years wish: To be happy with him until the end. They say wishes made at New Years come true. Maybe they do, because that same year, he wrote: To be free.
In the end, they both got exactly what theyd wantedas if life had simply granted their deepest desires.
