BILLIONAIRE’S REGRET: After My Rebirth

001.

|• DELORES

I have THREE months left to live.

I HAVE three MONTHS left to live.

I HAVE THREE MONTHS LEFT TO LIVE.

My vision blurred as I stared at the test results in my trembling hands. The words on the paper danced before my eyes, refusing to make sense.

“Mrs. Aaron,” the doctor’s voice broke through the ringing in my ears calmly, “you’re at the final stage of renal failure, specifically, the end stage. Your kidneys are functioning at less than ten percent. Without a transplant or dialysis, you might have around—”

“Three months left,” I completed, the tears I was fighting back rolling down my cheeks.

Three months. Just three months to breathe, to live.

I pressed my lips together, trying to smile like it didn’t hurt. Like I wasn’t falling apart inside.

The doctor looked at me with pity. “We can begin dialysis immediately. It’ll help prolong—”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. My chest heaved as I lowered the results onto the table. “I’ve spent half my life pretending to be alive for others. I don’t want to spend the rest of it attached to wires.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “At least… talk to your husband. He deserves to know.”

My laugh came out hollow.

My husband.

The same man who hadn’t looked me in the eyes for months. Who spent more time with his phone and away from home than with me. Who didn’t even notice the weight I’d lost, or the pain that carved dark circles beneath my eyes.

How do you tell a man who’s already forgotten you that you’re dying?

I sniffled and wiped the tears from my eyes. “It’s fine, Doc,” I forced a smile, folded the paper into my bag, and stood to my feet. “Thank you.”

I turned to leave.

“Mrs. Aaron,” he called, his tone laced with concern. “There can still be a w—”

“It’s fine, really,” I smiled wider even though I was already dying inside. “I’ll keep in touch.”

I didn’t wait for him to say anything else before leaving. When I got into my car, I leaned my back on the seat and exhaled. That didn’t help to soothe the pain in my chest. I felt like I was suffocating. Never in my twenty-five years of existence did I imagine that I was going to die like this.

And the worst part? I hadn’t really lived.

My life had revolved around my family. Around him.

Everything I did, every breath I took, was for my husband, Aaron. The man I gave up my career for. The man I gave my world to.

And now, I was going to die without even knowing if he ever truly loved me. You would ask why I wasn’t sure he loved me after marrying me. But Aaron had always been a closed book with emotions tucked into it.

I loved him so much that I was ready to marry him despite it all. For a year, our marriage was pure bliss, but after that, he became distant, absent even. He barely slept at home or even ate my food. He was close, yet so far.

Sylvie had told me she’d seen him countless times with other women, and I think I’m starting to believe that.

I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. For a moment, I wished I could go back—back to when I was still Delores Monroe, the actress everyone admired, not Delores Aaron, the pathetic wife.

But wishes were useless now.

I started the engine, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

When I returned home, I looked around the living room—the one I was going to leave behind very soon. My eyes darted to a framed photograph of me and Aaron on our wedding day. I walked to where it was and glided my fingers around it, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips.

Maybe we could talk. Maybe I could get the closure I needed. I have just three months left to finally get to live for myself. And if Aaron wasn’t going to be living it with me, I’d rather he told me that himself.

A part of me hoped he would tell me it was all a lie, and that he loved me and we could be happy again.

I fumbled through my bag for my phone and sent a text message to Aaron, inviting him home for dinner so we could talk. He replied a few minutes later that he would be here, and that he had something to tell me.

Something twisted in my stomach. Could it be hope? Maybe he’d finally seen his wrongs and negligence and wanted to apologize to me.

With a strained smile, I turned to head for the kitchen, but the sound of my door flying open startled me.

“Delores!”

The voice sent cold shivers down my spine.

My mother.

One of my worst nightmares.

“Where in God’s name did you put your phone?” she asked, walking to where I stood in the middle of the living room. “Victor has been arrested again and I was calling you to come bail him out, but you never answered!” she yelled, her shrill voice bitter like the one I’m used to. “Why didn’t you answer?”

I balled my fists, my chest clenching with hurt.

“I went to the hospital. I haven’t checked my call logs.”

“Look at me when you answer me, Delores,” her voice was clipped, void of any emotion.

I heaved a deep breath and willed myself to turn around. My gaze met her icy ones, and for a moment, I mourned the mother I used to know, the one who loved me, not the one whom money—my money—had turned into a greedy, money obsessed and emotionless monster.

“That is no excuse—”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I was at the hospital, mum?”

“That is not important. What’s important is you getting Victor out of there. For goodness’ sake, he is your brother, and you have to stop neglecting him like this.”

That made me laugh humorlessly. “Neglecting him? When have I ever neglected him? I’ve been the one cleaning his mess for three years. Victor is irresponsible—”

“Don’t you dare complete that statement.” She glared murderously at me. “Because he gambles and drinks doesn’t make him irresponsible. You will make a call and get him out of there. Right now.”

I could feel tears heating the back of my eyes. My hands shook, fighting the urge to throw something. All I’ve ever done is take care of her and Victor. They lavish my money faster than I earn it, and whenever I complain, I get called stingy, selfish, and mean. And when I stopped auditioning for shows, they squandered most of the royalties I got—and am still getting.

Enough. I’m not going to let them walk over me anymore. I won’t be alive much longer. I might just set some things straight before I go.

“Victor is twenty-two years old, mum,” I began, my voice calm despite the storm simmering beneath my surface. “A twenty-two-year-old who has refused to get a job. All he does is use my money to gamble, drink, do drugs, and get arrested. And before you begin talking about opportunities, I gave him several chances to get a job and finally leave your house, but what did he do? He refused them and continued to waste time. He should learn to take responsibility for his actions.”

Mum gaped at me. “Are you trying to say we should leave him there?” her voice broke.

Here comes the emotional blackmail.

“You know how hard it was for me when I was pregnant for him. You know how he is. He won’t survive a day there. How can you be so cruel to your own flesh and blood?”

“Mum—”

“You’re unbelievable, Delores. I knew you were selfish, but I had no idea you were heartless as well…”

“Mum—”

“He’s going to die—”

“I’m the one who’s going to die!” I finally snapped, my voice rising. “I’m the one that’s barely surviving, mum!” The tears were falling in torrents now. “Don’t you care about me at all? I work my ass off for this family. I work my ass off for everyone, but no one ever looks my way. All you care about is Victor. I’m dying, mum,” my voice was barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean?” she asked calmly.

I took the test results and gave them to her. While she looked at them with wide eyes, I continued. “I have just three months left to live. And I’m going crazy here, and all you care about is your son that you don’t even notice the pain I’ve had to endure. I—”

“Delores,” she cut me off. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I tried, but you never listen to me,” I scoffed. “No one ever listens to me.”

Mum folded the paper, her face emotionless. For a beat, I wanted to see her smile and tell me everything was going to be okay. I wanted her to hug and comfort me. That pathetic and love-deprived part of me wanted her to at least tell me something soothing, tell me that she loved me.

But what came out of her mouth next felt like a stab to the heart.

“Well, you’re dying and we can’t do anything about it. Write your will and transfer everything you own to Victor.”