He loathed his wife. Theyd shared the same roof for fifteen yearsfifteen long years of seeing her first thing every morning. And for the past year, every little habit of hers had ground his nerves to dust. The worst? The way shed stretch her arms in bed, still groggy, and chirp, Good morning, sunshine! Todays going to be lovely. Harmless words, sure, but her bony arms and puffy, sleep-swollen face made his skin crawl.
Shed rise, shuffle to the window, and stare into the distance for a few seconds. Then shed peel off her nightdress and head to the bathroom. Back in their newlywed days, hed adored her body, her careless freedom that sometimes flirted with impropriety. But now, though shed stayed slim, the sight of her just irritated him. Once, hed even considered shoving her to speed up her morning ritual, but he clenched his fists and snapped instead: Hurry up, Im sick of waiting!
She wasnt in any rush to live. She knew about his affairhad even met the woman hed been seeing for three years. Time had buried the wounds to his pride, leaving only a dull ache of being unwanted. She forgave his temper, his indifference, his desperate grab at reliving his youth. But she refused to let anyone steal her peaceliving deliberately, savouring every minute.
That was how shed decided to live after learning she was ill. The disease gnawed at her month by month, and soon it would win. At first, shed wanted to shout the truthtell her family, share the burden, lighten the load. But the hardest days she faced alone, wrestling with the creeping shadow of the end, and she resolved to stay silent. Her life was slipping away, yet with each day came a quiet, observing wisdom.
She found solace in a tiny libraryan hour and a halfs journey, but every day shed duck into the narrow aisle labelled Secrets of Life and Death (scrawled by the elderly librarian) and hunt for a book that mightjust mighthold all the answers.
Meanwhile, hed trot off to his mistress. Everything there was bright, warm, familiar. Three years theyd carried on, and all that time hed loved her in the most exhausting wayjealous, guilty, suffocating when apart from her young, vibrant body. Today, he arrived with a decision: hed leave his wife. Why torture all three of them? He didnt love herhe hated her. A new happiness waited. For emphasis, he fished out his wifes photo and tore it to shreds.
Theyd agreed to meet at the restaurant where, six months earlier, theyd celebrated their fifteenth anniversary. She arrived first. Hed dashed home beforehand, rummaging through drawers for divorce papers. In one, he found a dark blue folder hed never seen. He ripped off the tape, braced for blackmailbut instead, it was stuffed with test results, medical certificates, all stamped with her name.
The realisation hit like a bolt of lightning, ice-cold sweat prickling down his back. She was ill. He googled the diagnosis. The screen spat back a brutal line: 6 to 18 months. He checked the datessix months had already passed. His mind fogged. Over and over, the words echoed: 6 to 18 months.
Autumn was gloriousthe sun gentle, warming the soul. How strange and beautiful life is, she thought. For the first time since her diagnosis, she felt a pang of pity for herself.
Walking, she watched people laugh, oblivious to winters approach and the spring that would follow. Shed never feel that again. Grief swelled inside her, bursting free in a flood of tears.
He paced the house, struck for the first time by lifes fleeting nature. He remembered her young, their hopeful early days. Hadnt he loved her once? Suddenly, it all seemed lostfifteen years, gone like smoke. As if ahead lay everything: happiness, youth, life
In her final days, he hovered by her side, fuelled by a desperate, unfamiliar love. Terrified of losing her, hed have given his life to keep her. If anyone had reminded him that, a month ago, hed dreamed of divorce, hed have said, That wasnt me.
He saw how hard she foughthow she cried at midnight, thinking he slept. He understood no sentence was crueller than knowing your own end date. He watched her cling to the frailest, stubborn hope.
She died two months later. He carpeted the path from house to grave with flowers. Wept like a child as they lowered the coffin. Aged a decade in a day.
At home, under her pillow, he found a notea New Years wish shed scribbled: To be happy with him till the end of my days. They say New Years wishes come true. Perhaps they do, because that same year, he wrote: To be free.
Each got what they truly wantedas if life had followed their own designs all along.
