I pulled the diagnosis from the hospital out of my bag—lung cancer.

It felt absurd.

I had never considered myself a bad person, yet life seemed to have dealt me a cruel hand.

I fought back the urge to let my anger and despair spill over, wobbling unsteadily as I stood up and headed upstairs. But just a few steps up the staircase, my legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed.

When I came to, my arms and legs were bruised and aching.

Struggling, I managed to get back on my feet and stepped outside, hailing a cab to check on my injuries.

The ride was rough; I couldn't stop coughing. The driver glanced at me with concern. "Are you okay, miss?"

I took a deep breath, forcing a weak smile. "I'm fine, really."

Once at the hospital, I got in line to see the doctor for my injuries.

After a quick examination, he prescribed some medication and warned me to avoid water.

As I left, I spotted Marvin. What a coincidence.

I quickly turned my head, not wanting to see him—or his new girlfriend.

Another fit of coughing hit me, and I covered my mouth, feeling the warm trickle of blood on my hand. A stranger handed me a tissue, and I looked up at him gratefully.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

I shook my head weakly. "I'm fine."

He pressed further, "What about your family?"

I forced a wry smile.

My parents had passed away five years ago, along with Marvin's, in a tragic plane crash.

"They're gone," I said quietly.

"Wow, I'm sorry to hear that. But you really should get checked out; your cough looks pretty serious. It could be your lungs," he suggested, concern etched on his face.

I managed a faint smile. If there were even a glimmer of hope for healing, I wouldn't feel so utterly lost and hopeless.

"Marvin, I think I just saw Ms. Parker," I overheard someone say.

"Ha! How could she possibly be here? She's tougher than nails," Marvin replied, his voice as cold as ice.

His words pierced through me, and a wave of sadness washed over me. If I were gone, he'd be relieved.

I thought back to the times when he would move mountains to get me what I wanted, even if it was just a star in the sky.

Now, he seemed indifferent to my suffering, walking hand in hand with another woman.

Maybe he had wanted a divorce long before this.

"Do you know them?" the man asked.

I laughed bitterly, continuing to cover my mouth. "No, I don't."

Turning to leave, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Once, we had been a couple deeply in love; now, we were like strangers passing in the night.

After my parents died, we had become each other's only support. He had once firmly told me, "We'll get through this together. From now on, I'll be your rock."

But now? I was on the brink of death.

Stumbling out of the hospital, I ignored the curious stares from passersby, brushing aside Marvin's previous warnings. I ducked into a store and picked out a few bottles of wine, bringing them back home.

What does it matter anymore? I am dying—why should I care about restrictions?

I collapsed onto the couch, opened a bottle, and took deep swigs.

Maybe the alcohol would help me forget my longing for him, if only for a little while.

My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. I glanced at the caller ID—it was him.

I shot up, tears streaming down my face like a waterfall.

After all these days of holding back my feelings and resisting the urge to call him, he was reaching out. I thought maybe Marvin still cared.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before answering the phone.

His voice, however, was cold as ice. "Your trophy's still at my place. If you don't want it, I can dispose of it for you."

His words felt like a sharp dagger piercing right through my heart.

"Could you send it to me, please?" I managed to say calmly.

So, that was the reason for his call. How much did he loathe me that he couldn't even tolerate a trophy?

He let out a sardonic laugh. "I'm busy; I don't have the time."

"There are plenty of maids at the house. Could you ask one…"

"Come get it yourself."

Thus, our disheartening conversation came to an end.

Marvin hung up the phone, and I sank back into the couch, memories of that trophy flooding my mind.

I had always hated practicing the piano, but my parents made me stick with it.

To my surprise, I turned out to be quite talented, winning numerous competitions and eventually snagging one of the most prestigious piano awards in the world.

I couldn't wait to share my excitement with Marvin.

When I did, he held me close, his gaze filled with pride.

"Freya, I knew you could do it," he said, beaming.

"You're just going to have to step up your game," I teased, running my fingers along his jawline.

"Don't worry, I'll match your brilliance," he replied, his expression turning serious. "I have to be worthy of you."

Now, he had built an impressive career for himself, shining like a star. Maybe in his eyes, I no longer measured up.

Exhausted, I lay on the couch, drifting into a restless sleep. In my dreams, I was still coughing, my body pushed to its limits, desperately trying to grasp something, anything.

The next morning, I woke up to find my pillow stained with alarming blood.

Panic gripped my chest, and I felt a wave of dread wash over me. The thought that I might leave this world at any moment was unbearable.

I climbed the stairs to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Before I fell ill, I had been a radiant, beautiful woman. Now, I appeared gaunt and hollow, as if a decade had slipped away overnight. The dried blood on my lips and the vacant look in my eyes made me look like a specter haunting the night.

When I arrived at Marvin's place, I entered the code for the door, but it flashed an error.

He had changed the password. It was clear he didn't want me back.

The door opened, revealing the housekeeper.

"The trophy is on the coffee table. You can go grab it," she said.

I slipped on some house slippers and walked in, spotting my trophy sitting quietly on the table.

As I picked it up, tears welled in my eyes.

I traced my fingers over its surface, remembering the girl I once was—the one everyone envied.

"Is Marvin home?" I asked.

"Mr. Bogart is upstairs. Would you like me to get him?"

I shook my head. "No, that's alright."

It was better to avoid awkwardness.

I tucked the trophy into my bag, ready to leave, when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

I hesitated, telling myself to just take one last look.

"Marvin, we..."

And there she was, the other woman, always by his side.

My grip tightened on my bag as I made a hasty retreat toward the door, but he called out to me.

"Wait."

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"What's wrong? Afraid to see me?"

Slowly, I turned to face him, forcing a wry smile.

I didn't need a mirror to know how twisted and awkward my expression was.

Marvin's face was serious, his gaze cold and unyielding, locked onto me.

"Is there something you need?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"We should set a time to finalize the paperwork," he replied.

I froze, the reality of our situation hitting me like a ton of bricks. I had almost forgotten about it in the chaos of everything. But maybe this was for the best; at least I wouldn't have to see him too upset.

"When are you free?"

"Today."

I let out a bitter laugh, muttering, "That soon, huh?"

"Ms. Parker, you don't seem to be taking this very hard," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Sharon chimed in, her voice icy. "What's the matter? Can't stand to see him move on?"

I noticed Marvin shoot her a cold glance, and she quickly silenced herself.