Three years of marriage to Terry Shane, followed by two years of separation.
His globetrotting with Katherine Lynn made me the laughingstock of our social circle.
A month ago, we met for the last time. I told him I was unwell, hoping he'd stay.
Instead, he rushed in, tossed divorce papers at me, and left, saying coldly, "Next time we meet, I hope it's because you've agreed to divorce. "
Now, I'm in a hospital bed, cancer eating away at me. The pain is unbearable.
The doctor holds a phone to my ear, pleading for someone to
answer.
I listen to the cold ringtone, despair growing with each unanswered ring.
"Please, pick up, " the doctor begs, voice cracking, palms swea I just want to tell Terry I'll sign the papers.
But I know it's hopeless. He's probably blocked my number lo ago.
Staring at the bland ceiling, I feel the last of my hope fade. I give up, knowing he'll never come.
The heart monitor flat lines with a long beep.
Silent tears roll down my cheeks.
Terry will probably be relieved when he hears I'm gone.