A Day Away From Success, She Walked Away

I was once the world’s top pharmaceutical prodigy.

At twenty-five, I resigned from an enviable executive position at a major pharmaceutical corporation.

I devoted myself entirely to the research of rare-disease treatments.

After ten years of sleepless dedication, I developed severe stomach problems.

I mortgaged my car and house, falling into millions of dollars of debt.

Just one day before the new drug was set to launch, my wife handed me an envelope and asked for a divorce:

“I’ve suffered with you for ten years. I’ve had enough.

You’re always in pain from your stomach—if you die, it’s a relief. I’ve already written your suicide note. The loans are your burden, but the house and car are mine.

That useless drug research of yours ends today!”

Inside the envelope were dozens of lethal sleeping pills and a handwritten letter forged in my script. My chest tightened.

She didn’t know.

Vanessa Reed was gravely ill with a genetic rare disease.

The drug I was about to release was her only chance of survival.

…

“What’s wrong? Another stomach flare-up? Can’t even hold the pen?”

Vanessa frowned, her face darker than I had ever seen.

She threw the pen onto the table in front of me, her tone sharp:

“The notary office I booked is about to close. Even if you’re in pain, take some meds and push through. Be strong for once, will you?”

I stared blankly at the divorce papers and forged will.

Yesterday, she and I had laughed together about the future.

Overnight, she had become someone else.

Not only did she want a divorce—

She wanted me dead.

My throat was dry, my lips trembling as I forced out a plea:

“Give me one more day. Just one more day, and the drug will—”

Vanessa cut me off, her voice sharp:

“One day? Not even half a day!”

Her beautiful face was twisted with anger, her hand clutching the envelope until it crackled.

“Ethan Cole, can’t you think of someone besides yourself? Can’t you pity me, just once?

What woman could endure this hopeless life, day after day? Freeing each other sooner is better—for both of us!”

She shoved the forged suicide note into my stiff hand.

Her resolve was like a blade piercing my heart, leaving only a numbing void behind.

Seeing my silence, Vanessa pressed on coldly:

“After signing, remember to call your parents.

You cut ties with them to marry me, but once they learn you left behind a will, for the family’s reputation, they’ll honor your wishes and cover the bank’s hole.”

Then, mistaking my silence for physical pain, she hurried to the kitchen for water and some painkillers.

She grabbed tap water in a rush and even picked expired pills without care.

Touching the cold glass, I suddenly felt absurdity overwhelm me. I couldn’t hold back the question:

“For money, you’d really rather see me dead? What about our vows? You promised a lifetime together—has ten years already made you regret?”

“You promised to give me a happy life when we married. Did you?” she snapped back, stepping closer, shouting with all her might.

Then, panting, she shoved the expired pills toward my lips with the water:

“After the notary signs, you’ll be dead anyway. You’ve lived picky your whole life—at the end, stop fussing.

Ethan, just sign. Think of it as the last kindness you’ll ever show me. Don’t torture us both anymore.”

Her words had just landed when a ringtone burst from her purse.

Vanessa’s expression shifted. She snatched up the phone and rushed out the door.