Early spring snow on the piano keys

The diagnosis was clear: three months. That was all I had left.

My phone rang. It was my wife.

"Joseph," she said, "you need to come on the reality show *The Last Journey* with me."

My instinct was to refuse, but she didn’t give me the chance.

"I lost a bet to Stephen. The hundredth one."

"You have to go. And on the final day, we leave the show together."

For three years, Helen had made a hundred bets with me, every single one for the sake of her so-called "savior," Stephen.

She’d lost ninety-nine times.

The cruelest loss was the one that took our child—just seven months along.

"Fine," I said. "I’ll go."

Consider it my final journey with her.

She just didn’t know it would be our last.

***

*The Last Journey* was filming in a small northern town nestled at the foot of a mountain range.

Light snow was falling when we arrived.

Flakes settled on my shoulders, their biting chill sending a dull ache deep into my lungs. I coughed reflexively, covering my mouth with a handkerchief.

When I pulled it away, a stark, vivid red stained the pure white cotton.

Tucking the handkerchief back into my pocket as if nothing had happened, I looked up at Helen walking ahead.

She wore a camel-colored coat, her posture straight and elegant—and just as distant and cold as the landscape around us.

Not once did she glance back, as though I weren’t even there.

The production crew rushed over, all smiles. "Helen! Joseph! Welcome, welcome! Your room’s all ready. You must be tired from the trip—please, rest first."

Helen gave a slight, indifferent nod and walked straight toward the log cabin the crew had arranged.

Pushing the door open, a wave of warm air greeted us.

The room was spacious and cozy, dominated by a large bed covered with a soft wool blanket.

According to the show’s rules, all married couples had to share a room during the trip.

I started to wheel my suitcase inside, but Helen suddenly turned, her gaze icy. "You take the sofa."

I froze.

Her beautiful features were etched with pure disgust, as if sharing a bed with me would be unbearable.

"I made a bet with Stephen," she said. "For this entire trip, you won’t lay a finger on me."

Another bet.