The Last Day

Anna’s POV

The days. Seven.

That was how many I had been given when the doctor told me my life could change completely if I waited too long.

I had spent the first four thinking about Mark, the fifth trying to understand what it meant to leave him, and now there was only one left.

One day.

I stared at the ceiling of the hotel room, listening to the faint sounds of London waking outside, and for the first time, the number didn’t frighten me as much as it used to,maybe because I had already done the hardest part. I left.

I had walked out of the house without waiting for Mark to come home, and although a part of me still expected to hear his car outside or his voice calling my name, I knew I couldn’t go back. My eyes moved towards the notebook on the bedside table.

The sixth page was still open.

Beside it were the first four letters I had written before leaving, and although the fifth was there too, I couldn’t bring myself to read any of them again.

Those letters weren’t just words. There were pieces of a life I had spent years building… pieces of me and today I had to write the last one.

I sat up slowly and reached for my notebook. My fingers rested against the cover.

For a moment, I wondered what I would tell Mark if I had the courage to say everything to his face.

Would I tell him that I had wanted him to love me so badly that I had forgotten to ask myself whether I still loved the woman I had become?

Would I tell him that every expensive gift he gave me had eventually started feeling like an apology for something he refused to admit he had done?

Would I tell him that I didn’t want his money, his mansion, his name, or his company? I only wanted him and that had always been the one thing he couldn’t give me.

I opened the notebook, the page was blank. I picked up my pen. For a while, I couldn’t write then I did.

“Day Seven.” I stared at the words before continuing.

“This is the last day.” My hands paused. The sentence looked more final than I expected.

“Tomorrow, I don’t know what my life would look like.” That wasn’t true. I knew exactly what tomorrow would look like.

It could be a hospital room, a recovery, or nothing at all.

I pressed the pen against the paper. “But whatever happens, I don’t want my last thoughts to be that I should have stayed somewhere I was unhappy just because I was afraid to leave.”

I wiped my tears and kept writing. “Mark,I loved you.”

Tears came rushing again. “I loved you when I shouldn’t have.” I took a deep breath and maybe that’s why leaving you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I looked at the page.

There were so many things I could say, but I knew if I wrote everything, I would never be able to leave the letter behind so I wrote only what mattered.

“I only hope one day you understand that I didn’t leave because you meant nothing to me.”

I stalled, then I added one final sentence. “I finally realized that I meant something to me too.” I put the pen down. For a long time, I simply stared at the page, then I folded the letter carefully and placed it with the others.

Seven letters, seven days, seven pieces of a woman who had spent too long believing her entire life had to revolve around one man.

I closed the notebook. My phone was beside me. I picked it up. There were several missed calls from Mark. I didn’t open them. There were messages too but I didn’t read those either.

I wasn’t ready to hear what he wanted to say. It probably made me look selfish or cruel but I had spent time making decisions based on everyone else’s feelings.

Today, I had to make one based on mine. I got dressed slowly, then packed the few things I needed for the hospital. There wasn’t much. A change of clothes, my documents, my phone charger, the notebook and of course the letters.

I looked at the suitcase for a moment before closing it. I didn’t need it. I wasn’t going anywhere after the hospital.

I picked up my handbag instead. Before leaving the room, I looked around one last time. It was strange how quickly a place could stop feeling unfamiliar.

I had only spent a short time there, yet somehow, the room had become the place where I finally admitted something I had refused to accept for years.

I wasn’t afraid of losing Make anymore, I was afraid of losing myself again and that fear was stronger.

The hospital was quieter than I expected when I arrived.

I walked through the entrance, holding my documents against my chest while the receptionist checked my name.

“Anna Carthwell?”

“Yes.” She typed something into the computer.

“Your admission has been confirmed.” I nodded. “Thank you.”

A nurse approached me and led me down the corridor. Every step made me more nervous. I had been here before. I had sat in these rooms before but this time was different because there was no more delaying it, no more telling myself that I needed another day.

The surgery was happening. I followed the nurse into a small room. “Please change into this,” she said, handing me a hospital gown.

I nodded. When she left, I changed quietly then sat on the bed. My hands were cold. I looked at them. They were trembling so much for being brave.

I laughed softly to myself. Perhaps bravery wasn’t the absence of fear. The door opened. A doctor walked in.

“Anna?’

“Yes.” He smiled gently. “How are you feeling?”

I almost laughed. “How am I supposed to feel?” He smiled faintly. “That’s fair.”

He pulled the chair closer and sat. “We’ll be monitoring you closely, and the procedure will take some time, but you’re in good hands.”

I nodded. “I know.” He looked through the file.

“Have you spoken to your family?” Shit! That question caught me off guard.

“My father knows I’m having this surgery.”

“And your husband?” I looked away.

“No.” The doctor studied me for a moment but he didn’t push. “Alright.”

I looked at the clock. The hand seemed to move too quickly. For seven days, I had been waiting for this moment. Now that it was here, I wanted them to slow down.

I wanted one more mining, one more ordinary day, one more chance to hear Mark complain about work while I pretended not to care.

I hated that my mind still went to him;especially now. I reached for my phone. His name was there. Mark.

My thumb hovered over it. One call was all it would take. I could tell him where I was, tell him I was going into surgery, tell him I was scared. Maybe he would come.

I couldn’t do it.

If Mark came because he was afraid of losing me, then I would spend the rest of my life wondering whether he had come because he loved me or because death had finally made me valuable to him.

I couldn’t live with that question so I locked my phone. Then I placed it beside me. The doctor stood. “We’ll come for you shortly.”

I had spent the entire week trying to control what happened next, but there was something I couldn’t control… whether I would wake up.

I placed one hand over my chest. My heart was beating quickly. I whispered to myself.

“Please.”

I wanted to live because, for the first time, I had started wondering what my life could become if I wasn’t constantly trying to earn someone’s love.

I wanted to know who Anna Carthwell was when she wasn’t someone’s wife.

I wanted to know what it felt like to wake up and make decisions without wondering how they would affect Mark.

I wanted to find out what existed outside the walls of that mansion.

I wanted another chance.

The door opened again. The nurse smiled gently.

“Anna, we’re ready for you.”

My heart dropped. I nodded. She pushed the bed slowly into the corridor.

The ceiling lights passed above me one after another, and I stared at them, trying not to think about what was waiting at the end.

The operating room doors appeared ahead. I took one last breath then my phone buzzed. I turned my head up. Mark.

For one second, I considered asking the nurse to stop. Then the doors opened. I looked at his name one last time then I turned the phone face down. The doors closed behind me and for once, I wasn’t waiting for Mark Brantley. I was waiting for myself.