Death Is My Gift to Her

The sensation of falling was surreal.

I felt like a kite whose string finally snapped, free at last from the hand that held it too tight.

The wind screamed in my ears, but inside, everything was dead silent.

For the first time in the six months since my stomach cancer diagnosis, I wasn't in pain.

It had been too long.

For half a year, my world had been reduced to the metallic tang of blood and the sterile stench of antiseptic.

Every time I threw up, it felt like my organs were being torn out. Every time I swallowed, it felt like gulping down razor blades.

To keep my wife, Helen Kerr, from thinking I was playing the pity card, I learned to flush blood-soaked tissues down the toilet and bite down on my hand to muffle the screams when the agony hit.

I even hid my painkillers inside an old vitamin bottle.

Because Helen once told me, "Reuben Baxter, you're a scheming bastard. Even if you died right in front of me, I'd hate you for ruining my floor."

And now, I was actually dying right in front of her.

As I hit the ground, a sickening thud echoed through the night.

The agony lasted only a second. It was immediately replaced by an endless, numbing cold.

Blood spilled from my body, staining the pure white snow like the intricate patterns on the expensive rug inside.

With eyes wide open, I stared up at the pitch-black sky.

Snowflakes landed on my eyelashes, cool and quiet.

So, this is what dying felt like.

There was no terror, only relief.

I looked down at my twisted limbs, at the terrifying pool of red beneath me, and forced my lips into a faint smile.

"Helen, congratulations on your engagement to your precious Austin," I thought.

I didn't have much to give. I hoped she would consider my life my final gift.

From tonight onward, she wouldn't have to worry about me checking her phone, spiking her beloved first love's drink, or holding on to the title as her husband.

I would be dead.

The Reuben Baxter she hated for three long years had finally gotten out of her life for good.

Before my consciousness faded completely, I thought I heard cheers drifting out from the ballroom.

"Kiss her! Kiss her!"

It sounded like a great party.

At the very end, I thought I saw Helen's cold, beautiful face. But this time, she wasn't frowning at me anymore.

I died.

Yet, somehow, I didn't completely disappear.

My soul floated up into the air, looking down at the broken corpse slumped in the corner of the garden.

The snow fell harder now, quickly burying the dark crimson and building a small white mound over me.

This was the hotel's backyard, tucked away from the main area. With the ballroom's music blasting in the distance, not a single person noticed that someone had just died here.

I wanted to float back down and pull a blanket over my body. It was so cold, and I always hated the cold.