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2026-01-11 04:00:04Vivienne's POV
“I’m not asking for permission,” he said sharply. “You need balanced meals. Vitamins and fruit are important to keep your body strong through all of this.”“Julian.”He looked at me, his gaze intense yet full of concern.“I can’t leave you like this. Not even if you force me to.”I turned my face away. A warm feeling spread through my chest, mixed with an ache I couldn’t quite explain. I wanted to tell Julian that I could take care of myself. I wanted to tell him I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, especially to him.But reality couldn’t be denied.I really couldn’t take care of myself in this condition.Julian straightened and took his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll be back soon. Maximilian, stay here with Mom, okay?”Maximilian nodded cheerfully. “Okay, Dad!”Julian looked at me one last time before leaving. His gaze lingered deep, searching as if he needed to be sure I wouldn’t collapse the moment he walked out the door.
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Too Late for Regret: My Husband and My Son 84
Vivienne's POV “I’m not asking for permission,” he said sharply. “You need balanced meals. Vitamins and fruit are important to keep your body strong through all of this.”“Julian.”He looked at me, his gaze intense yet full of concern.“I can’t leave you like this. Not even if you force me to.”I turned my face away. A warm feeling spread through my chest, mixed with an ache I couldn’t quite explain. I wanted to tell Julian that I could take care of myself. I wanted to tell him I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, especially to him.But reality couldn’t be denied.I really couldn’t take care of myself in this condition.Julian straightened and took his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll be back soon. Maximilian, stay here with Mom, okay?”Maximilian nodded cheerfully. “Okay, Dad!”Julian looked at me one last time before leaving. His gaze lingered deep, searching as if he needed to be sure I wouldn’t collapse the moment he walked out the door.
Too Late for Regret: My Husband and My Son 83
Vivienne's POVI held my breath as Julian took a loaf of bread from the shelf. It was still intact but already hard. Very hard. It had passed its expiration date two days ago. I lowered my head, embarrassed, because there was no explanation I could give that would sound reasonable.Then he noticed a glass of warm water on the dining table, now completely cold. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But at that moment, even small things like that made me realize how poorly I had been taking care of myself.Julian let out a long breath. A very heavy one. A breath that sounded like anger intertwined with guilt.“Is this what you call eating?” he asked, his voice low but cutting.I stayed silent.Awkward, ashamed, and a little hurt all mixed together. But I couldn’t be angry, because he was right.“I’m not very hungry,” I said softly. “The chemotherapy side effects make me...”“How many days have you been eating like this?” Julian’s voice came out sharper t
Too Late for Regret: My Husband and My Son 82
Vivienne's POV Maximilian is holding me with his entire small body, and I am holding him back as if this is the last day God has given me.Today my child is back in my arms.And even though I am fragile, weak, and sick, something inside me, for a moment, feels whole again.I hold my breath, trying to match my heartbeat to the small rhythm pressed against my chest. Maximilian’s body is warm, his weight real, and somehow it keeps me sitting upright even as the world slowly spins. His hands clutch my clothes, his fingers small but determined as if letting go for even a second would make me disappear.Julian remains beside me, his shoulder closed, his presence quiet yet steady. He says nothing, only shifts his position so I can lean on him if I need to. I let my shoulder touch his arm. The contact is simple, without demands, without promises and precisely because of that, my chest tightens.Maximilian lifts his face, his eyes red but attentive. “Mom cold?” he
Too Late for Regret: My Husband and My Son 81
Vivienne's POV “Oh.” Maximilian accepted the answer just like that. Then he yawned small and adorable and rested his head on my shoulder. “Mom, are you tired?” “Yes,” I answered honestly. “A little.” He nodded again, then lifted Dino and placed it on my lap. “Dino will watch Mom. Dad too.” I swallowed my tears. “Yes. Mom is being watched over.” Julian returned with two cups of tea. He set them down gently, then stood awkwardly, unsure where to sit. I shifted slightly on the sofa, making space without looking at him. He sat at the edge. The distance between us felt like a fragile compromise we both accepted. “You can see the beach from the window,” Maximilian said enthusiastically, pointing. “Can we look later?” “Later,” I replied. “When Mom feels a bit stronger.”Julian glanced at me quickly and the word stronger hung in the air, heavy. He nodded slowly, then looked at Maximilian. “Let’s make a small breakfas
Too Late for Regret: My Husband and My Son 80
Vivienne's POV “Max.” That was all I could manage. In an instant, he was running toward me. His small body wrapped tightly around my waist so tightly I almost lost my balance, but I didn’t care. I held him, stroked his hair, felt his heart racing like that of a child terrified of losing something precious. I closed my eyes. Tears spilled freely. I missed him. God, I missed him so deeply. “Mom, really?” he asked, looking up at me, his face wet, his voice shaking. “Is this really Mom?” I smiled through my tears. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s Mom.” Maximilian cried harder, hugging me again. “Mom, I missed you. I missed you so much ” I bit my lip, holding myself together so I wouldn’t completely fall apart. “I missed you too. So much.” Then I felt his small hand move gently, touching my cheek, as if he needed to make sure I wouldn’t disappear. “Mom’s sick, right?” he whispered.
Too Late for Regret: My Husband and My Son 79
Vivienne's POV This morning arrived with a gentle light too gentle for a body that still felt unbearably heavy. I moved slowly around the small apartment, as if every step had to be negotiated first with the pounding in my head. Sea air slipped in through the slightly open window, carrying a salty scent that clung to my skin and hair. I usually loved it. Today, it tasted bitter. I took my morning medication with a glass of warm water, waiting for the nausea that always came late but never failed to arrive. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long while, counting my breaths, waiting for the world to stop spinning. When I finally stood up, my legs still felt foreign, as if they didn’t belong to me. I let the wall support me, moving slowly toward the living area. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. There was no small laughter. No hurried footsteps. No innocent questions filling every corner. I swallowed the sting in my chest and forced
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