Divorce Me, I’m Dying

Doctor, be straight with me. How bad is it?

Bone cancer. Stage four.

I was still clutching the death sentence in my hand when my husband slammed the divorce papers onto the table.

He watched me drag a suitcase from the closet, his lip curling into a sneer. In that much of a hurry to get to that man?

Painsharp, jagged, like crushed glassground through my joints. I dry-swallowed a handful of painkillers, forcing them down a throat that felt like sandpaper.

"Yeah," I rasped, my voice barely holding together. "I've loved him for over a decade."

Silas let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Then get the hell out."

He will never know that later that night, I collapsed on the bathroom floor, heaving until my vision blurred.

He will never know the tile was stained with my blood.

And he will certainly never know that the man Ive loved for ten yearsthe man now forcing me out of his life with nothing but the clothes on my backis him.

Chapter 1

"Your husband didn't come with you?"

I gripped the crinkled edge of the exam paper. My knuckles turned white. I shook my head.

Silas was at the airport.

He had more important things to do. He was picking up Harlow.

"Doctor," I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Is it bad?"

Dr. Sterling didn't look up from the chart.

"Bone cancer. Terminal."

Boom.

The sound was physical. A shockwave. Then, silence. Absolute, deafening static filled my ears. The world tilted on its axis.

I leaned back against the hospital wall. The cold plaster seeped through my shirt, grounding me just enough to keep my knees from buckling. I pulled out my phone.

I dialed the number saved as Husband.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Just as the voicemail was about to click over, the line connected.

"I'm busy," Silas said. His voice was clipped. Impatient. "I'll call you back."

"Silas, I"

Click.

He hung up.

I stood in the middle of the busy hospital corridor, staring at the black screen. I didn't care who was watching. I let the tears come.

I had heard it. Just before the line went dead.

Her voice. Harlow.

It was always her.

Whenever Harlow was in the picture, I wasn't just second place. I was invisible.

A gnawing sensation started in my chest, spreading outward like acid moving through my veins. It wasn't just the cancer. It was the realization that I was entirely alone.

Night fell.

I sat on the living room sofa, the diagnosis sitting on the coffee table like a loaded gun.

I waited.

The clock ticked. Ten. Eleven. Midnight.

Finally, the lock turned.

Silas walked in. He spotted me in the dark, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, loosening his tie. "Dinner with some friends ran late."

Friends.

Right.

I knew exactly which "friend" kept him out until midnight.

I picked up the medical file. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to ask him for just two months. Just stay with me until the end.

"Silas, I need to tell you"

"Since you're up," he interrupted, pulling a folder from his briefcase, "sign this."

He tossed the document onto the table. It landed on top of my medical records.

Divorce Agreement.

The words blurred. A wave of nausea hit me, violent and sudden. Iron flooded my mouth.

I didn't say a word. I bolted for the bathroom.

My knees hit the tile. I gripped the porcelain rim and retched.

It wasn't food.

It was red. Bright, shocking crimson splattered against the white bowl.

I slumped against the cabinet, wiping the blood from my lips with the back of my hand. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent.

It took me thirty minutes to compose myself. To scrub the sink. To wash the metallic taste out of my mouth.

When I walked back out, I was hollow.

I picked up the pen and signed the divorce papers.

Then, I started packing.

Silas frowned, watching me shove clothes into a duffel bag. "You're leaving now?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

He glanced at the suitcase. "It's late, Rowan. Just go tomorrow."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the bloody tissues in his face.

But a fresh spike of agony shot through my femur, nearly dropping me to the floor. I couldn't let him see.

"I'll sleep in the guest room," I managed to say.

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"Do you really love him that much?"

I froze. My hand hovered over the doorknob.

"Yes," I whispered. "Very much."

"Good," Silas said. His tone was flat, almost bored. "At least you didn't waste your time pining for nothing. So, who is he?"

I turned back to look at him.

Silas stood there, handsome and cold, completely oblivious.

"Someone who hates me," I said softly. "Just like you."

Like he almost understood. For a split second, he actually thought it was him. But he dismissed it instantly.

He never would.

Chapter 2

I retreated to the guest room. I didn't count the pills.

I just shook the bottle Dr. Sterling had given me, dumping a small mountain of white tablets into my palm. I swallowed them dry, the chalky bitterness mixing with the salt of my tears.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that the fire in my bones finally simmered down to a dull, throbbing ache.

Sleep never came.

At first light, I dragged my suitcase to the front door. I froze.

Silas was standing on the porch.

A graveyard of cigarette butts littered the ground at his feet. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red, heavy with exhaustion. He hadn't slept either.

A stupid, fragile hope fluttered in my chest. Did he stay up worrying? Does he regret it?

Silas dropped his cigarette and crushed it under the heel of his dress shoe.

"I'll drive you."

Snap.

The hope died instantly. I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh.

"Okay."

The car ride was a vacuum of silence. Neither of us spoke. The air was thick with things unsaid.

Then, his phone buzzed against the center console.

Silas answered. He listened for a second, his brow furrowing. "I'm on my way."

He hung up.

"Harlow?" I asked, staring out the passenger window.

"Yeah."

"Just drop me at the next intersection," I said, my voice hollow. "You shouldn't keep her waiting."

He ignored me. He kept driving until he pulled up to the curb of the apartment complex Id be staying in.

"I had the cleaners come through this morning," he said, his tone purely transactional. "The lawyers will contact you about the asset transfer."

"Fine."

As soon as his taillights disappeared, my strings were cut. I curled into a ball on the sofa, letting the darkness drag me under.

I didn't know how long I was out. A jarring ringtone pulled me back to consciousness.

Caller ID: Milo.

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice was loud, frantic. "If you don't post something soon, your followers are going to start a riot. Theyre ready to burn the internet down."

I was a travel vlogger. My dream had always been to see every corner of the world. Milo was the owner of the agency I was signed toa rich kid with a heart of gold.

Since marrying Silas, Id ghosted my own career. Six months of radio silence. Thats why he was calling.

I opened my mouth to answer, but my throat was parched. Sandpaper.

"I..."

No sound came out.

I tried to stand, to get to the kitchen for water.

The room spun. Gravity shifted.

Crash.

My body slammed into the coffee table.

"Rowan?" Milos voice was tinny coming from the phone on the floor. "Rowan, what happened? Speak to me! Dammit!"

Beeping.

Rhythmic, steady beeping.

I blinked open my eyes. A sterile white ceiling. The smell of antiseptic.

Milo was hovering over me. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

I managed a weak, fractured smile. "So... you know?"

"Dammit, Rowan!" His voice cracked. "If I hadn't found you... How long were you going to hide this? You have to get better. I'm not letting you die on me. You hear?"

Milo was younger than me, a trust-fund baby usually full of bravado and swagger. Now, he was sobbing like a child.

"Don't," I whispered. "Dr. Sterling gave me two months. It is what it is."

Milos face hardened, wiping a tear with his sleeve. "Where is Silas? Why isn't he here? Let me guesshe's with that manipulative pick-me girl, Harlow?"

"We're divorced, Milo."

He froze. The anger vanished, replaced by a grim nod.

"Good. Good riddance."

Milo tried to fly in specialists. He wanted to throw money at the problem, to hire the best oncologists in the country.

I shut it down.

I didn't want treatment. I didn't want to rot in a hospital bed. I wanted to live.

"I promised my followers I'd show them the Northern Lights," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Can you take me to Alaska?"

Milo didn't hesitate.

By the next morning, he had a private jet on the tarmac. A full medical team was on board, monitoring my vitals every second.

Chapter 3

Crisp, biting air. A sky so pitch black it looked like velvet, studded with stars. The majestic, terrifying silence of the Alaskan wilderness.

I stared into the mirror, layering on foundation thick enough to bury the truth.

Concealer under the eyes. Blush on the cheeks. I was painting a portrait of a living person over a dying canvas.

I hit record.

"Hey everyone, it's Rowan. Today, I'm standing under the..."

I didn't finish the sentence.

Cold sweat drenched my back, freezing against my skin. The camera tilted. The horizon rushed up to meet me.

The last thing I saw was Milo sprinting toward me, his face twisted in sheer terror.

I woke up to the smell of disinfectant. Again.

"You're awake," June said, checking my IV. "Milo is next door screaming at a specialist about treatment options."

My phone buzzed on the bedside table.

Silas.

I stared at the screen for a heartbeat before answering. I forced my voice to stay steady.

"Hello."

"Where are you?" His voice was low, dangerous. "I'm at your apartment. It's empty."

"I'm"

"Doesn't matter," he cut me off. "Get to Serenity Gardens. Now. It's Irene. She collapsed."

The phone slipped from my hand.

Grandma.

I ripped the IV tape from my hand. A bead of blood welled up, but I didn't feel it. I threw the covers off and swung my legs out of bed.

"Hey!" June rushed over, blocking my path. "What do you think you're doing? You can't just leave! Your body is shutting down, Rowan!"

"Move, June."

"No! You need rest!"

The commotion brought Milo running from the hallway. "Rowan? Whats happening?"

"It's Grandma," I choked out, grabbing his arm to steady myself. "She collapsed. I have to go."

Milo didn't argue. He didn't ask about the cancer or the risks. He saw the look in my eyes and nodded.

"Let's go."

We arrived just as the doctor was stepping out of her room.

"She's stable, but barely," the doctor said, his expression grave. "Her organs are failing. It's age, mostly, but her system is exhausted. She can't stay here anymore. She needs full-time hospital care."

My knees gave out.

I didn't hit the floor. Milo was there, his arm clamping around my waist, hauling me up against his chest.

I buried my face in his shoulder, trembling.

"Well," a cold voice sliced through the air. "Isn't this touching."

I froze.

Silas stood at the end of the hallway. His eyes were pitch black, fixated on Milos hand resting on my waist.

"So," Silas walked closer, his jaw tight. "You've been with him this whole time?"

He stopped in front of us, looming.

"Is this him? The man you've been obsessed with for ten years?"

Milo tightened his grip on me. He had already arranged for Grandma to be transferred to the same hospital as medifferent buildings, so she wouldn't know I was dying while she was fighting to live.

I looked at Silas. Really looked at him.

He was waiting for an answer. Waiting to be right.

I let out a bitter, silent laugh.

"Yeah," I whispered, meeting his gaze. "He's the one I've loved for over a decade."

You idiot