Three Days to Photograph You

Three years after my cancer diagnosis, I secretly became the photographer at my ex-boyfriend's wedding.

Alexander Bennett had changed a lot. He looked commanding in his perfectly tailored, custom-made suit.

I instinctively tightened my loose jacket, trying to cover the numerous pinholes on my wrist.

My fingers trembled uncontrollably as I adjusted the camera settings, nearly knocking over the champagne tower beside me.

Alex strode over, frowning.

"Are you even fit to be a photographer? Hands shaking like that? Don't screw up my wedding photos."

I kept my head down, afraid to look at him.

"You look... eerily like my gold-digging ex."

"She ran off with that rich creep. Must have kids by now."

Then he swept his bride into his arms, kissing her deeply.

I didn't say a word, just checked the camera screen.

He had no idea. The "ex-girlfriend" he despised had exactly three days left to live.

...

The wedding was lively. But Alex kept glancing my way during the lulls.

Clutching my camera, I hid in the crowd, just managing to avoid him every time he seemed about to approach.

After a few rounds of this, I was utterly drained.

That's when Alex cornered me from behind, his shadow falling over me, smelling faintly of whiskey.

"Hiding frpm me?"

I gripped my camera, about to step sideways to slip away.

He moved closer, his tone carrying a hint of stubbornness.

"Seeing you... you remind me of someone. If... just if... your ex suddenly showed up at your wedding, would they be trying to make a scence...?"

My heart broken.

I cut him off before he could finish.

"If it were me? I'd wish him well."

Alex's brow furrowed instantly. He was about to speak when a familiar middle-aged voice cut through.

"Alex! Olivia! Finally, you two made it official!"

My body froze solid. It was my Dad's voice.

I looked over. Dad stood there in a crisp new suit, hair meticulously combed.

Olivia Reed immediately dropped Alex's hand and practically threw herself toward him.

" You look so handsome today! Honestly, if you hadn't encouraged me, backed me up... I might never have found the courage to tell Alex how I felt."

My father's slightly stern face softened instantly. He patted her hand.

"My dear girl. Uou deserve a good man like this, and you deserve this happiness."

So. Today, they were here as Olivia's "parents," attending "their daughter's" wedding.

I stood rooted to the spot, watching Olivia lean against my Dad's shoulder, cooing.

Time flies.

Fast enough that even my own parents had become someone else's family.

Olivia turned. When her eyes met mine, shock flooded them, quickly replaced by disgust.

She tugged Alex's sleeve, her voice low but crystal clear.

"Is this photographer even competent? She looks unsteady on her feet. God, don't let her mess up the photos and ruin my Instagram post."

Standing so long had left me weak. I swayed slightly.

Olivia instantly wrinkled her nose, stepping back in distaste.

"Are you okay? Seriously, if you can't handle it, don't push yourself. Don't... spoil the mood."

She paused, her tone dripping with fake innocence.

"Funny though... she does look familiar. Wonder what Chloe's up to these days..."

"Don't mention her!"

Alex cut her off sharply, his f voice thick with disgust.

"Bad luck! She ran off with the money. Probably sunning herself in the Maldives right now."

Olivia, however, wore a smile that was both wounded and deeply satisfied.

Who would have thought? Olivia Reed, once homeless, the girl I brought home... was now the princess everyone cherished.

While I, the supposed "lucky one," was fighting for my life on the edge.

I spun around and bolted for the restroom. Blood spilled into the sink, a shocking crimson.

Staring at my ghostly reflection in the mirror, I suddenly laughed.

It's good, Alex.

Your new life... finally free of dead weight like me.

The pain hit hard and fast. But my pain meds must have fallen out somewhere.

Clutching my mouth, I stumbled out. I only made it a few steps before colliding with someone.

"Oh dear! Are you alright, sweetheart?"

That familiar voice sent tears springing to my eyes instantly.

I looked up sharply. It's my mother.

She stared at my face for a second, a flicker of confusion in her gaze.

But she quickly looked away. Clearly didn't recognize me.

"Sorry, dear. Off to my daughter's wedding. I got a bit too excited, wasn't watching where I was going."

She patted my arm.

"You need to be careful, sweetheart. If you got hurt, your mother would be heartbroken."

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

I just gripped my camera tighter and fled into the crowd.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her blonde hair neatly styled, looking so vibrant C nothing like the devastated woman with tangled hair who had wept by my hospital bed years ago.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I nearly collapsed on the floor.

My hands shook as I tried to pick up the scattered pain pills. They kept slipping through my fingers.

These last three days, the doctor said, painkillers were all that could offer any comfort.

Yet I couldn't even manage to swallow a damn pill.

Memories, crushed by illness, suddenly sharpened. As vivid as yesterday.

The first time I coughed up blood was the day after I said yes to Alex's proposal.

We were in our crappy apartment. He was sprawled on the floor, excitedly sketching layouts for our new home.

"Your vanity goes here, catches the morning sun perfectly..."

"And we'll leave space on the balcony for your flowers...."

He looked up and grinned at me.

"Chloe? You okay?"

The word "Cancer" on the medical report felt like a boulder crushing my chest.

Treatment started off okay, actually. At a check-up, the doctor said the cancer cells were effectively contained.

Mom and Dad cried over the results, swore they'd spend every last penny to save me.

Alex poured his heart into taking care of me.

Those days were hard, but seeing the hope in his eyes, I felt like I could go through anything.

We got through the worst of it together. We even picked out wedding dress styles.

The day I was discharged, Alex brought me a red dress .

"When you're stronger, we'll take our engagement photos in this."

I waited, full of joy, while he paid the bill.

Then the world spun. Blood gushed from my mouth, staining the red dress crimson.

I grabbed the doctor's arm, frantic.

"You said it was under control! Why am I bleeding again?"

His eyes were full of pity.

"Ms. Harper... there's always a chance of recurrence... With current treatments... there's no cure possible now."

Locked in the bathroom, bitterness choked me.

Why me? Whynow?

Alex turned to me later, concern plain in his eyes.

"The doctor said we can cut back on the meds now, right? Since you're doing so well?"

I forced a smile, uglier than a grimace.

"Yeah. Doctor says I'm totally cured."

He believed me. He started talking about wedding plans again.

That night, tracing his hand in the dark, I whispered,

"Alex... what would you do... if I died?"

He turned sharply, pulling me tight against him.

"I'd follow you."

I laughed then, called him a "hopeless romantic."

But tears slid silently into my pillow.

I knew him too well. If he said it, he meant it.

I couldn't drag him down with me.

For him to live fully, he had to hate me.

My phone buzzed relentlessly. The work group chat was flooded with Alex and Olivia's wedding photos.

Alex tucking a stray hair behind her veil, his thumb brushing her cheek.

Olivia looking up, hooking his pinky, her eyes swimming with sweetness.

Olivia was my Mom's best friend's daughter.

Her parents died in a car crash when we were kids. I felt sorry for her, begged my mom to take her in.

She was sweet, thoughtful, charming.

She brought my mom water when she was tired, offered my dad soft words when he was stressed.

That peace shattered the day I got my diagnosis.

My illness waxed and waned. I'd cough until my mouth filled with the taste of copper.

My once decisive father aged overnight, his hands trembling even holding the paper. My mother fainted straight away.

They cared for me with heartbreaking tenderness, spending every penny, wearing themselves to the bone.

Watching them pour their lives into mine was its own agony.

They shouldn't be chained to a dying woman.

So, I started playing the villain.

I timed it perfectly. Made sure Alex "catch me with a stranger, staged like we were hooking up.

I blew through the money my parents gave me for living expenses. I even took out loans that brought debt collectors to our door.

I invested and lost the money Alex had painstakingly saved for a down payment.

My father trembled with rage, called me an "ungrateful wretch."

My mother wept, said, "How did we raise? "

And Alex, his eyes red, asked, "What happened to you?"

Each word was a knife twist, but I just laughed louder, more cruelly.

Seeing the disappointment etched on their faces, I knew it was time for the final blow.

At dinner one night, Olivia fumbled, dropping a spoon.

I let out a derisive snort, loud enough for everyone.

"Can't even hold a spoon? Some things never change, do they?"

The slap came instantly.

Mom hit me for the first time. Her palm stung, trembling.

"Chloe Harper! Get out!"

Alex immediately shielded Olivia, his voice thick with disgust.

"Chloe, that was beyond cruel."

I looked at the three people who once loved me most.

Now they looked at me like garbage. The metallic taste of blood rose in my throat.

I forced out my rehearsed lines.

"What? You two been screwing around behind my back? No wonder you want me gone! This whole family is rotten!"

I turned and walked out. Didn't dare look back.

To seal the deal, I posted the carefully crafted scene on social media.

Me in a slutty tank top, entangled with some suited stranger in a luxury hotel suite.

"Bye-bye, broke ex! Thanks for the 'upbringing,' Harpers! Moving on up! Enjoy your pathetic lives as the family of the ungrateful bitch!"

The moment I hit post, I opened Alex's chat.

"See? This is the life I want. I was bored sick of your budget dates. Go marry your little saint!"

Before he could reply, I texted my parents.

"Don't look for me. Your pathetic handouts weren't enough. If I make it big, don't expect a dime. You're dead to me."

Tears hit the screen as I pressed send, blurring the hateful words.