On the night of their tenth wedding anniversary, Zoe did not come home. This was the first time she had not returned home on their anniversary night. In the past, no matter how busy she was, she would always come back, and I would prepare wine and candles to share a drink with her, allowing her busy heart a moment to relax at home. This year, she rushed out in the morning and never came back, nor did she send any messages.
I only remember that when she left in the morning, her face was filled with tension and excitement, as if she wasn't a thirty-two-year-old female CEO, but a twenty-two-year-old girl in the spring of youth. I realized that the man she loved had returned. My heart tightened then eased, and I smiled resignedly. I should have foreseen this day and had already decided how to face it: I would leave.
Taking out the cancer diagnosis from the drawer, I started to cough gently, a metallic sweetness rising in my throat. Late-stage cancer, no hope for recovery. I had thought, if I died, would Zoe cry her heart out in grief? Now it seems I was overthinking. Ten years of marriage couldn't stop her longing for her first love; she never truly considered me her husband.