After a long silence, he still didn’t hear me speak and let out a few heavy breaths.

It was his way of reacting when irritated, though he held it in for Althea’s sake.

He placed the warm milk on the nightstand and said, “I know you’re not asleep. Drink the milk later; it’ll help you sleep.”

He added, “And stop posting all that nonsense on social media. Do you want the whole world to see it and judge me? Would that make you happy?”

I knew him well.

When he said that, he held back his anger, which was almost laughable.

He remembered Althea was sick, remembered feeding Althea’s dog and even remembered telling me about the wedding ceremony with her.

But he forgot that today was our seventh anniversary.

He rushed back just to ask me not to post on social media so I wouldn’t embarrass him.

He came to inform me that he was having a wedding with another woman.

Darius hated dealing with cold wars. Whenever we fought, he stayed late at work or slept in the guest room.

He only returned once I had calmed down, leaning against my shoulder and acting spoiled.

“Lol, my queen, the most beautiful and kind. Please, forgive me,” he would say.

This time was no different. He turned and started walking toward the guest room.

But there had never been a day when I forgave him again.

Just as he reached the door, he hesitated and turned back. He stood beside the bed, leaned down and kissed my forehead.

“Don’t be petty,” he said. “Althea is about to die. My wedding with her is just a formality.”

He continued, “Next month, I’ll marry you. Our wedding will be the grandest in the city and you’ll be the most beautiful bride in the world.”

My soul floated beside him, hearing his empty promises. I broke down and screamed, “Look at me! I’m already dead! The bride you’re talking about is gone!”

“The man who once ran out into a storm to buy me medicine when I sneezed, how can you not realize I’ve died right in front of you?” I cried out.

But he couldn’t hear a word. He tucked the blanket around me and said, “Why are you so cold? Cover yourself up properly so you don’t catch a cold.”

The following day, the doorbell rang. It was Althea.

Her eyes were swollen as if she had been crying for a long time.

“What’s wrong?” Darius asked.

Althea handed him her medical report and said, “The doctor said the cancer has spread. I only have two months left.”

Tears fell one by one onto Darius’ shoulder. He felt deeply distressed. Every move he made around her was careful and gentle.

“Darius, I only have one wish before I die. You’ll help me fulfill it, won’t you?” Althea asked.

Darius glanced toward the master bedroom, a flicker of something crossing his eyes.

“She’ll agree. She’s not a petty person,” he replied.

Darius cooked for Althea, making her favorite seafood.

He served just one bowl, but none for me. It had been a long time since I had the cereal he made.

Ever since he started his company, I had felt sorry for him, seeing how hard he worked for our wedding. I never let him cook again.

Now, watching him care for Althea so tenderly, it felt like a knife twisting in my heart, the pain unbearable.

After comforting Althea, Darius lost the patience he had shown the night before. He violently pushed open the door, his expression dark.

His face grew even more displeased when he saw the untouched glass of milk by the bedside.

“Vera, you’re a grown woman still throwing a tantrum over a young girl. She only has two months left. Can’t you show some compassion?” Darius said.

He paused and added, “As for Althea, explain the situation to your friends. She’s dying and I don’t want her to hear anything unpleasant.”

At that moment, I felt like I had heard the biggest joke of my life.

My fiancé was planning a wedding with another woman and now he accused me of lacking compassion.

He even expected me to explain the situation to others.

Seeing that I still wasn’t speaking and was lying with my back to him, just like the night before, a flicker of panic appeared in Darius’s eyes.

He frowned and there was worry in his voice.

“Are you sick?” Darius asked.

He took a few steps toward me, sat on the edge of the bed and reached out his hand.

Darius, you better take me to my burial. I never wanted to see you again.