My husband was a mama's boy to the core.

While he was always seeking his mother's approval and keeping his childhood friend close, I was stuck staring at my lab results: advanced leukemia. My clock was officially winding down. Maybe our love was never meant to be. Mila left the country years ago, which gave me a shot at marrying Zaiden. Now she's back, and they're practically attached at the hip again. I never imagined that after I'm gone, Zaiden would argue with his mother and cry, wishing he could follow me into the afterlife.

I knew Mila would return eventually—I just didn't expect it this fast. Zaiden never bothers to tell me where he's been. It wasn't until he brought her home that I realized he'd gone to pick her up. Normally drowning in work, he somehow found the time to help Mila contact landlords, set up her new place, and even handle all the furniture arrangements personally. He even offhandedly offered to let her crash here for a few days if she had nowhere else to go. And he didn't bother asking me—like I was a guest in my own damn house.

Looking back on our years of marriage, Zaiden barely noticed me outside of the evenings. Truth is, our union was built on obligation, not love. If he hadn't been wasted that night and I hadn't taken care of him, we never would've ended up together by accident. Pulled by duty, he married me. Later, when I got diagnosed with a congenital condition meaning I might never have children, it became an unforgivable sin in the eyes of the Harper family—they value their bloodline above everything else.

Margaret, my mother-in-law, never hid her contempt. And Zaiden, her ever-obedient son, gradually faded away from me under her influence—no surprise there. That evening, he came home late, and the food on the table had long gone cold. Knowing he preferred a warm meal, I plated some fresh pasta for him. He ate in silence, but, playing the picture-perfect son, he turned to his mother and said, "Mom, you shouldn't stay up this late for me. Thanks."

Margaret smiled with that sickly-sweet indulgence of hers. "If I didn't wait up, the house would feel so empty when you got home. Too lonely."

In her eyes, I was still invisible. She went on, "By the way, is Mila all settled in? She just got back; you'd better make sure she's comfortable."

"Everything's handled," Zaiden replied, his tone way too casual. Then his eyes suddenly caught mine and he grabbed my hand. "Sweetheart, don't stress. Mila's like a sister to me—I can't just turn my back on her. We're meant to be together forever, and you know that, right?"

His words sounded sincere enough, but that slick look on his face made me sick. I forced a smile past the ache inside me.

Right then, a cold snort cut through the air. Margaret's voice was sharp as a blade. "Enough with the drama. Finish your dinner and go to bed. You'll need to check on Mila first thing tomorrow, see how she's doing."

"A woman who can't bear children doesn't belong in the Harper family."

She stood up, shot me a look dripping with disdain, and retreated to her room. Zaiden's grip on my hand went slack as he casually pulled away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something—but nothing came out.

I let out a soft breath and gave him a gentle smile. "It's okay, Zaiden. Mom's just blowing off steam; I get it."

I wanted to reassure him, like I always did, but the weight of that medical report pressed down on me so hard. There really wasn't much left to say.

The next afternoon, I headed over to drop off Zaiden's lunch like I always did. Making his meals was a routine I'd held onto, even through my illness. While I cooked, I'd catch myself thinking that maybe spending whatever time I had left like this wouldn't be so bad. Keeping the peace, pretending I didn't notice—that felt like the safest bet. After all, that's how it'd always been. So why go stirring things up now, at the very end?

Unfortunately, not everyone wanted the same quiet lie.

When I got to the office, I caught whispers drifting from a corner nearby.

"Mila is gorgeous—effortlessly stunning, you know?"

The second they spotted me, they clammed up—though their eyes stayed glued to me, full of curiosity. So Mila was here.

I pressed my lips together, took a shaky breath, and pushed open the office door. And then I just… froze.

Zaiden and Mila were sitting together, sharing the lunch she'd brought in a heart-shaped container. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching them in a soft frame that made them look as if they had always belonged together. Zaiden hung on her every word, his voice soft when he answered, and she smiled. Mila let her fingers graze his arm, easy and intimate—the kind of closeness we'd never had.

The breath I'd been holding snagged in my throat, sharp and painful. I wanted to cough it out, to make a sound, anything—but I stayed silent.

I stood there, completely lost, when Zaiden turned and locked eyes with me. The warmth of their little moment shattered the second I walked in, and just like that, his expression went ice-cold.

"My mom asked Mila to bring me lunch. I couldn't exactly say no," he said, his voice flat. Like it was nothing.

I lifted the insulated lunch bag in my hand. "What about this? I took the time to make it…"

Zaiden cut me off, waving a hand. "Just take it home. Didn't Mom tell you already? You don't need to come by anymore. Mila's working here now—she'll take care of my meals."

I stood there, stunned, trying to process the words coming out of his mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mila smirking at me, her smile dripping with mockery and disdain.

"You should head back. You're not an employee here, so hanging around isn't really appropriate," Zaiden added.

I nodded weakly, feeling like the floor had just been ripped out from under me. Once, back when I'd offered to help out at the company, Zaiden had shut me down with almost the exact same words.

"I'm the boss here. I have to set an example—no favoritism."

But Mila? She'd studied design abroad, a field that had absolutely nothing to do with Zaiden's trading business. So how did she get to waltz in here and set up shop so easily?

In the end, I guess it all boils down to one thing: who the person is.

Zaiden stumbled through the door in the early hours, his clothes drenched in that heavy perfume. Mila's scent. I'd know it anywhere. In my weakened state, the cloying sweetness made my stomach churn, but I choked down the bile rising in my throat.

He made a move to wrap his arms around me, but I placed a hand on his chest, nudging him back. "Why don't you shower first?" I whispered. He paused, his mind catching up, then nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

His phone was on the coffee table, right next to my medical report. If he gave half a damn, he'd have seen the diagnosis. But he didn't. His eyes stayed glued to that glowing screen, soft and intent. What was he staring at?

The sound of running water filled the apartment. My gaze flicked from the bathroom door to the table. Balling my fists, I reached for Zaiden's phone.

Just this once, I told myself. After all, it'll be the last.

The screen lit up with Mila's selfie. It looked like a photo from her time studying abroad – standing under a maple tree, her smile bright and carefree. That innocent face, so naive.

That's when I realized they'd been in touch way longer than I thought. Or maybe they never really stopped.

A notification popped up: "Thanks for your help at work today," followed by one of Mila's flirty winking emojis.

My thumb brushed the waving bunny emoji. For a second it almost looked like pity—a small, useless gesture aimed at the wife no one saw. But that tap accidentally scrolled up, revealing thousands of messages stretching back who knows how long.

Zaiden stepped out of the bathroom, his face turning icy the moment he saw his phone in my hands. He snatched it away, and I asked, "Why are you still talking to her?"

"We grew up together," he shot back. "It's normal to keep in touch. My mom worries, so I'm checking in."

He took a step closer, and for a stupid second, I thought he might hold me. But it was only to grab his clothes off the coffee table. He headed for the door.

"Shit, I just remembered something for work. Gotta go," he said.

At this hour?

I stopped him, my voice breaking. "Please, you don't have to leave. Just… wait a few months."

"What?" Zaiden snapped, his patience gone. "You're overreacting. Stop jumping to conclusions and making idle threats."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Just a few months. That's all I'm asking."

But he wasn't listening. The door slammed behind him, and I was swallowed by the silence.