A Love That Faded Too Soon

It had been two weeks since I was discharged. When I got home, Julia Mars was sitting on the couch, and I had no idea how long she'd been waiting.

Her face was dark. A half-packed suitcase sat at her feet.

When she saw me, her sharp features twisted into a sarcastic smirk. "Finally decided to show up? You've got some nerve, Harry. I'm gone for a few days on a business trip, and you pull a disappearing act. The documents I asked you to prepare—this is how you handle it?"

Without a second's hesitation, she grabbed a stack of blank papers off the table and flung them in my face. The sharp edges stung as they scraped across my cheek.

I looked calmly at the papers scattered on the floor, but my mind kept flashing back to those comments online.

The doctors had told me about my heart—I just didn't want Julia to worry. So I played the fool and kept running myself ragged for her career. Because I loved her, I figured I'd do as much as I could, spend as much time with her as I had left.

But reality had played one hell of a joke on me.

My voice cracked. I closed my eyes and barely managed to force out a single sentence. "I didn't have time to prepare."

After all, just making it back alive was already more than I could ask for.

Julia was completely set off by my attitude. She shot up from the couch, knocking her suitcase over in the process. Messy clothes spilled out, mixed with a few contraceptive items.

She didn't care whether I saw. Her eyes landed on the medical bag in my hand, and her expression turned impatient. "Running to the hospital for more useless pills again? Are you really that fragile? What else are you good for besides sitting around the house?"

The medical bag didn't hold pills. It held the critical condition notices that no one had bothered to sign.

From the moment I walked in, Julia hadn't said a single word of concern—only mockery about my illness. Ten years of marriage, and it all felt like a joke.

"Julia," I said, my eyes burning, "would it even matter to you if I died?"

She froze for a second when our eyes met, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "I didn't—"

But before she could finish, her phone rang. The moment Julia saw the caller ID, the tension in her brow eased.

I didn't need to guess. It was Ken Cohen.

I didn't stick around. I turned and walked back to our room. As I closed the door behind me, I caught fragments of their conversation.

"Julia, when are you leaving Harry? He's not going to last much longer. Why drag that dead weight around? Just come with me—"

"Not yet. He's still useful."

I leaned against the door, staring at the wedding photo on the wall, my eyes stinging.