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.

At the same time, my phone buzzed with a message:

Ethan, your sis-in-law’s condition can’t wait anymore. Unless the new drug is released within a week, her life won’t last.

Vanessa didn’t return all night.

It was noon the next day when she finally came back.

I had just sent an email to my research team, ordering them to cancel the factory’s production schedule.

In my heart, I set a deadline:

If Vanessa softened within the week, I’d restart production.

If not, I’d destroy every record.

Ten years of sacrifice, wasted.

Closing my laptop, I heard the front door unlock, followed by a man’s mocking voice:

“Damn, sis, you’ve got skills. To squeeze every last cent out of your husband, you actually managed to drive him to suicide.”

The words made me stiffen.

And the next thing Vanessa said nearly stopped my heart.

“His life doesn’t matter—money does.

I didn’t leave him before because I thought he still had potential. But now he’s thirty-six, and he refuses to live a normal life. I have no choice but to sacrifice him for something better.”

Vanessa spoke freely of my death, plotting to use it to drain my parents dry for her wealth.

Thinking back to the forged note she had written in my handwriting, a chill spread through me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Forcing myself to stand, I shoved open the door.

“I’m not even dead yet, and you two can’t wait to feast on my corpse?”

Vanessa and Jason Reed froze, shocked I was home.

Recovering quickly, Vanessa frowned.

“You didn’t take the pills?”

I asked, “What pills?”

“You know what I mean.”

She scanned the room with her eyes, her expression easing slightly.

“So, you signed the divorce and the will and sent them to the notary already? Your eyes are so red—stomach acting up again, huh?

Ethan, stop being weak. Take the pills, sleep, and the pain will be gone forever.”

She reached out, wiping at my tears. Her touch should’ve been warm, but it only made me shiver.

“Enough!”

I slapped her hand away, voice shaking with fury:

“Quit the act! Stop pretending to care—it’s just emotional manipulation. You want me to willingly die for you. What am I to you? Your puppet on strings?”

Vanessa kept silent, but Jason jumped in eagerly:

“My sister’s put up with your crap for years. You owe her!

If you don’t die, how will your stingy parents cough up the money so she can live better?

Didn’t you always say you loved her? If you do, then prove it—sacrifice yourself for her!”

My chest nearly collapsed under the weight of rage.

Vanessa sighed.

“Ethan, can’t you stop being selfish?

Giving me happiness is better than both of us suffering, isn’t it?”

I gritted my teeth, locking eyes with her.

Moments later, Jason shoved his phone in front of her.

Vanessa’s face turned pale.

“What?

The notary director says you never filed anything!”

Her anger boiled over. She slapped me hard and stormed out with Jason.

I called her forty-five times. Every call went unanswered.

At 2 a.m., I saw a new update on Vanessa’s Facebook feed:

Visible only to you: Love means letting go.

The photo attached was my headshot from our marriage certificate, edited in black and white like an obituary.

My chest tightened.

I called again. Only the cold automated busy tone answered.

That was when I gave up completely.

I deleted her from every contact list, slept until morning, and drove to a law firm.

I hired an attorney to handle the divorce on my behalf.

That afternoon, after dismissing my entire research team, I returned home to find Vanessa waiting.

“You want to split the debts fifty-fifty? Are you insane?”

At her feet lay the divorce agreement my lawyer had sent, along with every bottle of my stomach meds.

It was almost time for my regular dose.

I drew a long breath.

“Isn’t it fair to split the debts we racked up during marriage?”

Her eyes gleamed with disdain as she tore away her mask:

“Ethan Cole, you’re shameless! Not only do you want me to share the debt, you even put that worthless drug of yours in the contract! Who are you trying to disgust?

You think you can weasel out? Fine, I’ll sit here today and see how long you last!”

She crushed the pill bottles under her heel.

I grabbed my phone to order new meds, but every pharmacy app showed them out of stock.

A familiar ache stirred in my gut. Panic flared.

I tried the doorknob—locked tight.

As the pain sharpened, my voice trembled:

“What did you do?”

Vanessa just sneered.

“I didn’t want to punish you. But you asked for it.

Didn’t you want your meds? Go on, pick them off the floor.”

She smirked at me.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Ten minutes later, I was doubled over in spasms, unable to stand.

She nudged a crushed bottle toward me, her tone cruelly tempting:

“Your stomach’s killing you, right? Without pills, you’ll die from the pain. Stop resisting—get on your knees and pick them up.”

The agony blurred my senses.

Even her words, treating me like a dog, didn’t spark my anger anymore.

Eventually, I collapsed to the floor.

My hand fumbled for a bottle. I twisted it open, desperate, swallowing the pills.

The moment they slid down my throat, my dignity, my self-image—

And the last shred of hope I held for Vanessa—

All burned away in her triumphant laughter.

When the pain dulled, I was alone again.

That night, an unknown number sent me a string of photos—

All of me, kneeling on the floor, scrambling for pills like a wretch.

I dialed back.

“I’ll have my lawyer resend the divorce papers. You can fill in however the debts get split.”

A familiar female voice chuckled:

“So scared I’ll leak these pictures online? Pathetic. I knew I had to crush you to make you obey.

Here’s how it’s going to be: all debts on you, the house and car to me, plus an IOU note for eight hundred thousand.

If the bank ever comes after me, I’ll take that note straight to your parents.”

Her merciless tone washed over me.

I only answered with a flat “Fine” and hung up.

She would never know—

That divorce agreement she despised once contained a clause sharing the new drug’s results with her.

My last act of softness, for the sake of our years together.