He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together—Every Morning, He Saw Her Face. But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Set His Nerves on Edge—Especially the Way She’d Stretch Out Her Arms in Bed and Say, “Good morning, sunshine! Today will be a wonderful day.” A Seemingly Innocent Phrase—Yet Those Thin Arms, That Sleepy Face Now Filled Him With Disgust. She’d Rise, Gaze Out the Window, Slip Off Her Nightdress, and Head for the Bathroom. Years Ago, Her Freedom Dazzled Him—Now Even Her Beautiful Figure Made Him Furious. Once, He Almost Pushed Her to Hurry Her Up, But Instead Just Snapped, “Get a move on, I’m sick of waiting!” She Took Her Time—She Knew About His Affair, Even the Girl He’d Been Seeing the Past Three Years. Pride’s Wounds Healed, Leaving Only a Quiet Sense of Uselessness. She Forgave His Anger, His Coldness, His Desperate Cling to Lost Youth; But She Wouldn’t Let Him Rush How She Lived, Savoring Every Moment, Especially Since Learning She Was Ill—An Illness Slowly Claiming Her, Month after Month. Her First Impulse Was to Tell Everyone—To Diminish the Cruelty of the Truth By Dividing It Up Among Loved Ones—but She Faced the Hardest Days Alone With the Realization Her Death Was Near. Then, She Chose Silence. With Each Passing Day, A Quiet Wisdom Blossomed Amidst Her Fading Life. She Found Solace in the Village Library—A Long Walk Each Day To Reach Shelves Labeled ‘The Mysteries of Life and Death.’ He Went to His Lover’s House—Bright, Warm, Familiar. For Three Years, He’d Loved Her Madly, Jealously, Even Unbearably. Today, Resolute, He Decided: Divorce. Why Torture Three People? He No Longer Loved His Wife—In Fact, He Hated Her. Here, He’d Be Happy. Trying (and Failing) to Remember Loving His Wife, He Tore Her Photo into Pieces: Proof of His Decision. They Agreed to Meet at the Same Restaurant Where Six Months Ago They’d Celebrated Fifteen Years of Marriage. She Arrived First. He, Before Leaving, Searched For Divorce Papers, Rummaging Frantically Through Drawers. There He Found a Sealed Navy Folder He’d Never Noticed. Expecting Anything—Maybe Blackmail Photos—He Tore It Open to Find Medical Records, All In Her Name. A Sudden Realization Struck—a Chilling Diagnosis: “6 to 18 months.” Checking Exam Dates, He Saw Half a Year Had Already Passed. The Words “6-18 months” Echoed In His Mind, His Thoughts a Blur. She Waited Forty Minutes—No Answer to Her Calls. She Paid the Bill, Left for the Autumn Streets, Sunlight Warming Her Soul. “How Beautiful Life Is, How Wonderful the World with Its Sun, Its Forests,” She Thought. For the First Time Since Her Diagnosis, She Felt Pity for Herself. She’d Kept the Secret From Family, Friends, Even Him—to Spare Them Pain, Even at the Cost of Her Own. Life Soon Would Be Only a Memory. As She Walked Among People Eager for the Future—For Winter and Then Spring—She Realised She’d Never Feel That Hope Again. The Injustice Swelled Until Tears Gushed Forth Unrestrained… He Paced At Home—For the First Time, He Felt, Almost Physically, How Swiftly Life Slips Away. Remembering Her Young, Full of Hope When They First Met—He Had Loved Her Then. Suddenly, It Was As If Those Fifteen Years Had Never Happened. Everything Was Still Possible: Happiness, Youth, Life. In Her Last Days, He Was By Her Side, Caring Day and Night—Happier Than He’d Ever Been, Yet Terrified Of Losing Her. Had Anyone Asked, A Month Ago, He’d Have Sworn He’d Never Hated His Wife, Never Dreamed of Divorce. That Was Someone Else—Not Him. He Saw How Hard It Was For Her To Say Goodbye To Life; Heard Her Secret Tears Each Night. There’s No Worse Punishment Than Knowing How Little Time Remains—Yet Still She Clung To Impossible Hope. She Died Two Months Later. He Covered the Road from Their House to the Cemetery in Flowers. He Wept Like a Child at Her Graveside—Aged a Thousand Years in a Moment. At Home, Beneath Her Pillow, He Found a Note—Her New Year’s Wish: “To Be Happy with Him Until the Very End.” They Say All New Year’s Wishes Come True. Perhaps They Do—That Very Year He Had Written, “To Be Free.” In the End, Each Got Exactly What They Thought They Wanted…

He loathed his wife. Loathed her

They had been married for fifteen years. Every single morning for those fifteen years, he saw her beside him, but it was only in the past year that her habits began to irritate him deeply. Especially the way she would stretch her arms, still lingering in bed, and say, Good morning, sunshine! Today will be a lovely day. It was just a simple phrase, but something about her thin arms and sleepy face stirred a swelling dislike in him.

She would rise, walk to the window and gaze longingly at the horizon for a few moments. Then, shed slip off her nightdress and head to the bathroom. Early in their marriage, her body captivated him, her nonchalance bordered on daring. Though she kept her figure in wonderful shape, the sight of her now sparked only annoyance. Once, hed even wanted to shove her to hurry her up in her morning routine, but he held the urge, gathering his restraint, and just barked out gruffly, Hurry up, Im sick of waiting!

She was never in a rush to get on with life; she knew about his affair, even the name of the young woman hed been seeing for almost three years. In time, her pride had been battered, but it left only a quiet ache of feeling unwanted. She forgave his rudeness, inattentiveness, and his hopes to relive his youth. Still, she wouldnt allow him to disrupt her gentle pace understanding the worth in every minute.

This is how she decided to live when she learnt she was unwell. The illness drained her month by month and would soon win. Her first urge was to tell everyone to shred the merciless truth into pieces and share it with her loved ones. But the hardest hours she endured alone, and the next day, she resolved to keep her secret. As life slipped away, wisdom blossomed in her, the wisdom of one who had learned to observe.

She found solace in the small village library, a ninety-minute walk from home. Each day, she nestled herself in the narrow aisle between the shelves labelled Mysteries of Life and Death by the elderly librarian, and would immerse herself in books that seemed to hold all the answers.

Meanwhile, he visited his mistress home. Everything there was vivid, warm, and welcoming. Theyd spent three years together, and he loved her with an unreasonable obsession: full of jealousy, humiliation, sometimes humiliating himself, unable to breathe away from her youthful figure.

Today, he arrived with a clear resolve to end his marriage. Why drag it out for all three of them? He no longer loved his wife; if anything, he hated her. Here, he could start fresh, find happiness again. He tried to recall the feelings hed once had for his wife and found nothing; in that moment, it seemed as if he had been annoyed with her since the very start. Pulling his wallet from his jacket, he found a photo of his wife, tore it into tiny shreds, and let them flutter into the bin a final gesture affirming his decision.

They arranged to meet at the restaurant where, six months before, theyd celebrated their fifteenth wedding anniversary. She arrived first. Before heading over, he stopped at the house, rummaging through drawers in search of the paperwork for filing divorce papers. Agitated, he tossed out socks, old envelopes, and clutter onto the floor.

In one drawer, he found a sealed navy folder hed never noticed before. Squatting on the floor, he swiftly tore off the tape. He expected anything, maybe even blackmail photos. But what spilled out were medical reports, stamped letters, and hospital summaries. Every page bore her name.

The truth struck him like a bolt of lightning; a cold, crawling wave ran down his spine. She was ill. Frantically, he googled her diagnosis and read the grim words: Life expectancy: 6 to 18 months. The dates showed it had been half a year since her diagnosis. What happened next was a blur. One phrase clanged in his head: 6 to 18 months.

She waited for him for forty minutes. He never answered his phone. She paid the bill with a crisp twenty-pound note and stepped out onto the street. The autumn weather was glorious the sun gentle and warming to the soul. How beautiful life is, how wonderful it feels just to be here, close to the sun, the woods, she thought.

For the first time since learning the truth, she was flooded by a deep sadness for herself. Shed had the strength to shelter her husband, parents, and friends from the awfulness of her illness, hoping to spare them pain, even at the cost of her own life. After all, soon all that would remain was a faint memory.

As she walked down the street, she saw how people beamed, eager for the future winter would come, but afterwards, surely spring. She realised she would never again feel that anticipation. A mounting sense of sorrow overcame her, spilling out at last in a ragged stream of tears.

He tore around the flat. For the first time, he felt to the core how fleeting life truly is. Memories of his wife as she was in their youth overwhelmed him, back when theyd first met, still full of hope. How he had loved her then. It seemed now as if those fifteen years had vanished, and happiness, youthfulness, and life itself were all ahead of them.

In the coming days, he wrapped her in care, barely leaving her side, cherishing moments as never before. Terrified to lose her, he would have given up his own life to keep her. If anyone had reminded him that just a month ago hed wanted to leave her, hed laugh bitterly and say, That wasnt me.

He saw now the weight she carried in silence, the nights she wept, thinking he was asleep. He understood nothing in the world is crueller than knowing the date of your own farewell. He witnessed her fighting for her life, clinging to hope, however impossible.

Two months later, she passed away. He covered the path from their house to the graveyard with flowers. He wept like a child as they lowered her into the earth. He felt a thousand years older.

Back at home, under her pillow, he found a note shed written at New Year: To be happy with him for the rest of my days. Theres an old saying that wishes made on New Years Eve always come true. Curiously, that same year, in his own note, hed written: To be free.

Each got exactly what they thought they wanted.

And so, life taught him that you dont always see the true value of what you have until its gone and that real love sometimes means recognising, far too late, how precious it truly was.