We had been in love for years, and everyone believed that Henley was utterly devoted to me.

Even I thought so—until the day I saw him in bed with a younger woman.

I lost all will to live and chose the most peaceful way to end it all.

When Henley found out I had donated my body, he completely lost his mind.

"Professor Noe, have you really made up your mind?"

Hearing the slightly mournful voice on the other end of the line, Joanna Noe absentmindedly twisted the wedding ring on her finger and replied, "Yes, I've made my decision to donate my body."

"But your condition... There might still be a chance—" the person on the other end began.

"Pancreatic cancer is unbearable," Joanna interrupted calmly. "You're my student and a front-line doctor—you should know better than anyone else. Besides, I can't hold on any longer."

She slid the ring off her finger, a flash of sorrow crossing her eyes. "While my organs are still in relatively good shape, I want to go peacefully. Donating my body to the medical school will be the last lesson I can give you all as a teacher."

The ring traced a silver arc through the air, landing in the trash can.

After a brief silence, her student spoke. "We'll schedule it as you wish—seven days from now. I'll draft the donation agreement and send it to you soon. Please... take care of yourself in the meantime."

The sound of the front door unlocking broke the quiet.

A man in a black trench coat stepped inside—Henley Zeal. He caught sight of Joanna lowering her phone and asked curiously, "Joanna, who were you talking to?"

"My student," she answered.

Like Henley, Joanna was one of the youngest professors at the medical school, mentoring countless students. Unlike him, she was approachable and patient, earning the admiration of her pupils.

"By the way," Joanna continued, turning the question on him, "you mentioned earlier that there was an emergency at the hospital. Did you resolve it?"

The question made Henley's heart skip a beat, his body stiffening slightly.

After a moment, he replied, feigning nonchalance, "Mostly."

Joanna could tell he was lying.

They had been together for 24 years, from meeting and falling in love to getting married. By now, she knew every nuance of Henley—his tone, his gestures, even the smallest changes in his expression.

Wanting to shake off the unease, Henley quickly changed the subject. "What do you feel like eating tonight? I'll cook for you."

Joanna didn't know how to cook.

As a child, her parents handled meals. After they passed, Henley took over, managing every detail of her life with care.

People often said someone like Henley—a genius surgeon—was born to wield a scalpel, not waste his talents in the kitchen.

Henley never complained.

"Taking care of Joanna is my greatest blessing," he'd say.

"If she ever stops needing me, that's when I won't survive."

"I can't imagine a life without her."

The aloof and distant Henley, who always kept others at arm's length, became soft and tender when it came to his wife. It amazed everyone who saw it.

Their colleagues often said Joanna was lucky to marry Henley.

Joanna thought so too—until the day she saw her husband, the same man who swore he couldn't live without her, pull a younger, beautiful woman into his arms and kiss her deeply.

Only then did she realize that vows could change. People could, too.

After that, she started receiving photos from an unknown number.

The pictures were always of Henley and the same young woman—walking hand in hand under fireworks, sharing a kiss on a hot-air balloon, browsing couples' keepsakes together.

Before Henley left the house that day, claiming he had urgent work at the hospital, Joanna received a text from the same number.

[This afternoon, Henley will make me his completely.]

When Henley got ready to leave earlier, Joanna called out to him, "Can you not go?"

And what did Henley say?

"Be good, Joanna. I really have to go this time."

"Joanna?"

Henley's voice pulled Joanna back to the present.

"I feel like having fish," she said. "Make fish stew tonight."

Taking off his coat, Henley moved close to Joanna's side and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck like a clingy, insecure little animal.

"Joanna, I missed you so much. You're my everything—my only love in this world!" he proclaimed.

"You'll always love me too, right? You'll never leave me, will you?" Henley asked questions like this often, as if he was never tired of hearing the answer.

If Joanna didn't respond immediately, he'd sulk like a child, his eyes reddening as he accused her, "Joanna, am I annoying you? Do you not love me anymore? If you don't, just kill me now. Without you, I can't go on."

In the past, Joanna would laugh, half exasperated, and swear, "I'll love you forever. I'll never leave you."

This time, she stayed silent, tapping her fingers lightly on the armrest to change the subject. "I'm a little hungry."

Henley's expression darkened at her lack of reassurance. He was about to speak when his gaze shifted to her bare left hand.

"Where's your ring? Where's our wedding ring?" he demanded, grabbing her hand, his voice trembling with panic.

That ring was special. Henley had made it himself, spending two months crafting it from scratch.

He wasn't a jeweler—he knew nothing about designing or working with metals. His hands had been cut and bruised countless times during the process, and he'd almost lost a finger to a saw.

Despite it all, he had been determined to make her a one-of-a-kind ring.

Joanna had cherished it, never taking it off.

Now, she calmly pulled her hand back. "The ring broke. I sent it for repairs."

Before Henley could press further, his phone rang.

A quick glance at the caller ID made Joanna's gaze dim.

It was Addison Shorrock—one of Henley's students, the same woman who had been sending Joanna those photos.

Henley tensed, ending the call without answering.

The phone rang again—and again. Five or six times in a row, as if the caller wouldn’t stop until he picked up.

"You should answer it," Joanna suggested. "It seems urgent. Maybe it's something important."

Relieved by her words, Henley finally picked up.

"I told you before—handle the research on your own. Stop running to me for every little thing," he said coldly. "If you keep this up, I won't approve your project!"

The usual distant professionalism.

Who would've guessed that a man who seemed incapable of betrayal was secretly having an affair with his student?

Henley intentionally lowered the volume on his phone and stepped out onto the balcony.

Joanna couldn't hear the conversation but simply stared at the faint indentation on her finger where her ring used to be.

When Henley returned, there was a faint trace of joy in his expression, though he tried to hide it. "Joanna, it's getting late. I'll head to the market now and buy fish for you."

"Okay," Joanna answered.

Before leaving, he kissed her on the forehead. "Wait for me. I'll be back soon."

As the door clicked shut behind Henley, Joanna picked up her phone.

Addison had sent a new video.

In it, two undressed bodies were entangled, moving together. The obscene sounds of water squelching and heavy breathing filled the background.

The video ended with a message: [I just asked Henley if he wants me again. Guess what his answer will be?]

Henley never came back that night. Instead, Joanna received a message from him.

Henley: [The prosecutors contacted me for an urgent autopsy. I won't be home tonight.]

Henley was a renowned name in his field. Whenever a tricky case arose, people sought his expertise first. Assisting law enforcement was nothing out of the ordinary.

Not long after, there was a knock at the door.

It was a food delivery—a halibut fish stew.

Joanna immediately recognized the restaurant. It was one of their favorites, a place where they often dined together.

The delivery guy, a young man with a bright, cheerful smile, explained, "Your husband asked me to apologize on his behalf. Since he couldn't come home to cook for you, he specially ordered this fish stew for you. He said he'd make it up to you next time."

He added with genuine admiration, "Wow, your husband treats you so well!"

"Does he?" Joanna didn't take the food. Instead, she signed the receipt and handed it back. "I'm not going to eat it. If you don't mind, feel free to take it home for yourself."

That night, Joanna didn't eat a single bite. She sat alone on the couch, staring into the darkness as the hours dragged on until dawn.

When she finally stirred, she found herself sprawled on the floor near the window.

The rain from the night before had left droplets on the sill, pooling into tiny streams.

One of those rivulets had trickled into her open hand, cold and damp.

It seemed she'd passed out from the pain again.

This wasn't the first time.

Late-stage pancreatic cancer brought relentless, piercing, soul-crushing pain. Sometimes, it became so unbearable that the thought of ending it all felt like the only reprieve.

Judging by her position, last night must have been one of those moments. She must have crawled toward the window, considering the jump, but ultimately collapsed before she could act.

With shaky limbs, Joanna propped herself up, realizing her sleeves were soaked and clinging to her skin in an uncomfortably clammy way.

The sensation reminded her of being gnawed by unseen insects, but she couldn't be bothered to care.

Her hands fumbled across the table until she found a bottle of pills.

Without glancing at the label, she poured a handful into her palm and swallowed them dry, tossing the bottle into the trash.

What the pills were didn't matter. How many she took didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

Her phone rang.

She answered, and a young, energetic voice came through. "Professor Noe, the consent forms for your body donation are ready. When you're available, could you come by to finalize the paperwork?"

Joanna agreed.

The worst of the night's agony had passed, and the medication dulled her senses enough for her to function.

She took a taxi and arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter.

The process of donating her body to science wasn't particularly complicated—except for one critical step.

Joanna's student said hesitantly, "Professor Noe… you know that for a body donation, we need a family member's signature. There's only six days left... Professor Zeal..."

"I'll handle him," Joanna replied, slipping the consent forms into her bag.

As she stepped out of the office, she came face-to-face with Henley.

Standing beside him, looking bashfully pleased, was Addison.

The moment their eyes met, Addison shot Joanna a sly, triumphant glance.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Zeal," she greeted with a falsely sweet tone.

Then, almost as if by accident, she adjusted her collar to reveal faint marks on her neck, clear evidence of intimacy.

She mouthed silently, "Do you know how many times he had me last night?"

Henley, in an instant, stepped away from Addison. He put noticeable distance between them and schooled his expression into the distant professionalism he typically displayed, allowing warmth only when he addressed Joanna.

"Ah, Joanna, what are you doing here?" His tone was light, casual—but there was a flicker of panic beneath the surface.

Joanna's gaze flicked briefly to his subconsciously rubbing left hand.

"To find the two of you, of course," she answered.