Chapter 1
Seven years into my marriage to Andrew Bennett, I discovered he'd been living a double life.
The day his mistress confronted me, she told me he'd been planning to leave me for three years.
"If you hadn't gotten sick, we'd already be together. How much longer are you going to hold him back?"
Andrew burst in and slapped her hard across the face without hesitation.
"Come near my wife again, and we're done."
After that, I insisted on getting a divorce.
Outside the divorce office, Andrew's eyes were still red.
But I knew the truth.
If he hadn't encouraged her, she never would've approached me.
He was just done with this marriage.
*****
The woman showed up the same day my doctor told me I had three months to live.
I'd been trying to figure out how to break the news to Andrew gently.
Then she appeared.
We met at a café. She glanced pointedly at my wig, then looked down and stirred her coffee.
"Sit down. You're the sick one here, so if I'm out of line, feel free to stop me."
On the phone, she'd only mentioned Andrew's name.
I'd braced myself on the drive over.
All those little changes in Andrew lately—they suddenly made sense.
Her name was Emma Sinclair. Fresh out of college.
She said they'd been together for three years.
"Andrew was ready to divorce you back then. But you got sick, and he couldn't go through with it."
She spoke casually, with an edge of arrogance—like being his favorite was her birthright.
She looked up at my calm expression.
"Ms. Bennett, I feel sorry for you, but haven't you noticed? Your husband doesn't love you anymore."
Tracing circles on the table under my hand, I asked gently, "So you came here to convince me to divorce him?"
It wasn't every day the other woman showed up in person.
She sipped her coffee, still smug.
"I'm pregnant. I want my child to have a proper family."
I stayed silent for a long time.
Then I blinked away the sting in my eyes and laughed bitterly.
"Alright. I agree."
Andrew once told me he'd never have a child with someone he didn't love.
Now I understood.
Just as I was about to leave, Andrew burst in, drenched in sweat and out of breath.
Right there in front of everyone, eyes blazing, he slapped her hard across the face.
He'd been raised never to hit women.
But in that moment, his control snapped.
"Didn't I tell you to stay away from my wife? Emma, pull this again, and we're finished."
I didn't stick around to watch their drama unfold.
When Andrew reached for me, I pulled my hand away gently.
"I need some time alone."
He stood frozen, watching until I was gone.
I wandered the summer streets with no destination, completely lost.
Was I sad?
A little. But mostly I was overwhelmed. I couldn't understand when Andrew had stopped loving me.
Honestly, during three years of illness, I'd noticed something.
His feelings for me had faded.
My pale face, my hair loss, my fragile body that seemed ready to break.
Day by day, time eroded the love between us.
I always knew Andrew would eventually grow tired of the sickness, the weakness.
Today just sped things up.
It was nearly dark when I got home. Andrew sat waiting on the front steps.
He held a thermos. When he saw me, he stood and handed me a white pill, warm from being clutched in his palm.
His voice was as gentle as ever.
"You still haven't taken your medicine today.
"Even if you're angry, don't punish your body."
When I swallowed it, he finally looked relieved.
We were alone in the living room.
Andrew gently helped me to a seat.
"Ask me anything. I'll tell you the truth," he said.
I held the thermos. The water inside was still warm—he'd made sure of that.
To be honest, Andrew always cared for me himself. Never delegated it.
I took a sip to soothe my dry throat.
"What are you going to do about the baby?"
I didn't ask why he'd cheated while claiming to love me.
I didn't ask why he'd stayed with her since he'd chosen me.
Andrew looked at me, his gaze growing more earnest.
"Sophia, I won't lie. I want to keep the baby."
I nodded.
But my fingers stayed frozen for a long time.
Andrew came closer, crouching down and looking up at me.
"Soph, I'm not leaving you. You can count on that."
I knew what this was—pity.
He felt sorry for me being so alone.
So he'd set aside part of his love to spend his life taking care of me.
To him, I mattered—but not enough.