He Faked Our Vows While I Was Dying

1: 1

At twelve, Oswald Harding broke a leg helping me run from the orphanage.

At nineteen, they drew his bone marrow twice to treat my cancer.

At twenty-three, the night he took the executive director's seat at Sanchez Group, he asked me to marry him.

My heart was full. Then I saw the kiss mark on his neck.

Before I could say a word, he dropped straight to his knees, his eyes red.

"Rebecca Henson, the doctor says I have a split personality."

"One is me, one isn't. One loves you, one doesn't."

"The one who betrayed you, that wasn't me!"

I believed it for three whole years.

But on the day we were supposed to fly abroad, he snatched the boarding pass out of my hand and tore it in half.

Then he turned and slid his arm around another woman's waist.

"He likes you. What does that have to do with me?"

"I have real business to handle. Don't bother me."

I didn't cry or make a scene. I just straightened his tie and told him to be careful on the way.

He didn't know.

In three days, I had an appointment for euthanasia.

While I waited for Oswald in the departure lounge, I held two cups of coffee.

One iced black coffee, one hot latte.

He told me once: the one who loves you drinks the latte, the one who doesn't drinks the black coffee.

I couldn't tell which one was coming back today.

I just watched for the ring on his hand.

Ring on, I'd hand him the hot latte.

Ring off, the iced black coffee.

I'd been living this way for three years now.

When he came into view, I glanced at his hand first.

Empty.

I set the iced black coffee down by his hand.

But for the life of me I couldn't picture what that ring looked like.

I only knew it was proof of more than ten years of our love.

More than ten years ago, the punks at the orphanage were tormenting me.

Oswald threw himself into the fight alone, blood soaking through his shirt.

They even broke one of his legs.

Afterward we huddled in a cramped basement.

The two of us shared one cup of instant noodles, and he always left every last strand for me.

To scrape together my tuition, he took under-the-table jobs.

Somebody came after him, and beat his head bloody.

That day his whole face was covered in blood, but he pressed a beautiful ring into my hand.

That boy's eyes were startlingly bright in the dim alley.

"Rebecca, make do with this one for now. Someday I'll buy you the biggest, best one there is."

But later, on the night he proposed.

I found the kiss marks on his neck, on his back, some faint, some deep.

He knelt in front of me, eyes red, and handed me a medical record with a blue cover.

He said the doctors had found he had a split personality.

The one who betrayed me, that wasn't him.

The one who couldn't remember me, that was even less him.

"Rebecca, I can't control it. I never know when he's going to show up."

"From now on, use the ring to tell us apart. Whenever I'm the clear-headed me, I'll be wearing the ring."

"Okay?"

That night I cried until I couldn't breathe.

And still I nodded without hesitation and chose to believe.

"Okay."

Over those three years, I flew abroad more than once.

All for the faintest sliver of a chance.

I made a photo wall, turned our past into stories, and read them to him piece by piece.

Read him how the basement was our first home.

Read him about the child who never got the chance to be born.

He listened, and there was nothing in his eyes but open boredom.

Until last year.

I took that medical record, meaning to ask a doctor about it again.

I passed a little convenience store and went in to buy water.

The owner picked the thing up gently out of my hand and smiled.

"Miss, are you all right?"

"You're taking a fake medical record to a doctor at a hospital?"

She bent down and pulled out a thick stack from under the counter.

The exact same pale blue cover.

"Three dollars each. How many do you want?"

I stood there, cold all over.

I turned to the back cover and dialed the number printed on the first page.

The woman who answered was polite and pleasant.

"Hello, ma'am. Would you like to hear about our critical illness insurance?"

I hung up and stood on the roadside from daylight until dark.

My heart kept sinking, sinking.

Tears dropped without a sound.

As it happened, the ad on the bus stop had changed that day.

Oswald stood dead center, and beside him was Davina Sanchez, the Sanchez heiress.

I stood frozen, and finally understood everything.

I pulled another medical record out of my bag.

This one was real.

Bone marrow cancer. Late stage.

For three years I'd carried his fake record halfway around the world.

My own real one, I'd never shown anyone.

Now that I wanted to show it to him, there wasn't enough time left.

When Oswald looked up from his phone screen, I pushed his luggage in front of him.

"I've got it all packed."

He glanced at the suitcase.

"Your luggage"

"Mine's ready too. I don't have much, no need to check it."

Only then did Oswald lift his head and study me for two seconds.

"What I mean is, don't bring it."

"The honeymoon's off. I'm busy."

As he spoke, he pulled the boarding pass out of my hand.

Folded it in half, then tore it open.

"He likes you. That's nothing to do with me."

"Whatever you're upset about, go tell the Oswald who loves you."

The honeymoon I'd waited three years for was canceled again.

I didn't say anything.

I just stepped closer and retied his crooked tie.

"I sorted out your stomach medicine. Three packets, morning, noon, and night, labeled. They're in the left inside pocket of your bag."

"Go easy on cold drinks. Your stomach's bad, it'll start hurting again."

This time it was his turn to freeze.

"What's this? No fussing?"

I curved my lips.

"I don't have it in me anymore."

He stared at me for two seconds and said nothing.

I looked down at my phone.

Dr. Fox's message from this morning was still lit up, asking whether I'd settled on a date.

I thought for a moment, then wrote back.

"Three days from now."

His honeymoon ends in three days.

2: 2

Oswald told me not to see him off, but I trailed along right behind him.

Just like when we were kids, walking the whole way.

Watching his back grow smaller, I suddenly called out to him.

"Oswald."

He frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just... wanted to look at you a little longer."

"Have a safe trip."

He studied me for two seconds, then let out a cold laugh.

"You've been strange today."

"Out with it. What are you up to now?"

I shook my head.

But he clearly didn't believe me. His eyes stayed fixed on me, waiting for me to explain.

A gentle voice came from beside him.

"Oswald, don't be so harsh with her."

Davina Sanchez hooked her arm through his and tipped her face up with a smile.

"For three years I've watched. She really knows how to take care of people."

"Just like the housemaid we used to have."

Ever since he joined the Sanchez Group.

Davina had become a subject we couldn't get around in our lives.

She understood stocks, she understood ball games, she understood everything Oswald cared about.

They became close friends, right up until the night he proposed, when he told me himself that he was ill.

And Davina, under the name of caring for a coworker, forced her way completely into our world.

Just like now.

Davina swung his arm and whined sweetly.

"Go on, apologize to her. She packed your luggage so neatly."

"From now on we'll just hire her as our housemaid, okay?"

Oswald looked down at her and smiled, doting.

"You."

That smile was familiar, and yet unfamiliar.

The last time he looked at me that way was a very long time ago.

I laughed at myself.

A dying woman, still fussing over things like this.

In those three years, Oswald hadn't been without his lucid moments.

Once, while the ring was still on his hand, I made a fuss about going to one of his coworker gatherings.

Vanity had gotten to me. I only wanted to stake my claim in front of those people.

At that dinner, Davina sat right beside him.

His coworkers all started ribbing him.

"If you ask me, you're one lucky guy, having an heiress chasing after you."

"The way I see it, the two of you are a perfect match."

"Right, don't forget the little people once you've made it big!"

Listening to the lively teasing, I quietly picked up a bite of food with my chopsticks and set it in his bowl.

The whole table went silent.

And right in front of me, he pushed that food off to the side.

He never touched it, not once, from start to finish.

That night, back home, he did something out of character and rushed into the study.

He grabbed his pill bottle and tipped it hard into his mouth.

He said sorry to me, said he hated himself for having a split personality.

I cried and held him, stroking his back over and over.

"Rebecca, don't push me."

"Give me time. Wait until I recover, all right?"

I nodded hard.

From then on, my marriage was nothing but waiting.

Waiting for the Oswald who loved me to wake up.

Waiting for the Oswald who didn't love me to have time.

On my birthday, I waited in the private room from dawn until deep into the night.

The honeymoon we'd agreed on, the tickets got rebooked seven times.

Until my ID was locked out of the system, he never showed up.

I got angry. I cried.

But not once did I ever blame him.

I loved him, and he loved me.

He had only, for a while, forgotten me.

It was just that over those three years, his lucid moments came less and less.

At first every few days, then every dozen or so.

Now it was months.

I kept wondering if I'd become too dull.

In three years, the things I said to him were the same few lines over and over.

Did you take your medicine? Is it cold out? Do you want me to reheat the soup?

Who would like a person who only asks whether he's taken his pills?

Even I didn't like her.

The announcement came over the speakers.

Davina went through security first.

Oswald walked seven or eight steps forward, then abruptly turned back.

"Rebecca Henson."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

For that instant, I thought he'd found out.

Thought he was going to ask me why I'd gotten so thin.

Ask me about the row of needle marks under my sleeve.

"No."

"Really nothing?"

I shook my head, then watched him disappear, bit by bit, into the crowd.

I lowered my head and sent Dr. Fox a message.

"Move the surgery up."

3: 3

The apartment was very quiet.

I pulled the curtains back to let the light in.

There wasn't much to take to the hospital, but I still found a big suitcase.

When people are about to leave, they always want to leave something behind.

At the very bottom of the drawer sat an old tin box.

I opened it.

A pearl necklace lay inside.

It was fake.

The year I was nineteen, chemo took all my hair.

I lay in that hospital bed day and night and refused to step outside.

Oswald had just come out of a bone marrow extraction; his back hurt so much he couldn't stand up straight.

He still slipped out and bought me this necklace.

He fastened it around my neck with great care.

"Rebecca, look. You're the prettiest."

I touched the bead with the little air bubble in it and laughed at him.

"This is fake."

His ears went red all at once.

"When I have money, I'll get you a real one."

I said okay.

Later he really did have money.

I never once let him replace it.

I was afraid that if he did, it wouldn't be that necklace anymore.

Below it was a stack of movie tickets and Polaroid photos.

I placed them into the suitcase one by one.

At the very bottom, pressed flat, was a red marriage certificate.

I opened it gently.

In the photo Oswald was smiling beautifully, his eyes curved, his teeth showing.

I sat on the floor with the red booklet open across my knees and looked at it for a long time.

I couldn't understand it.

Why did Oswald have to lie to me?

Countless times I had pushed him away, told him to go live a new life.

He only had to say he didn't love me anymore, and I would have let go at once.

Instead, of all things, he chose to lie.

All these years, I had found so many reasons for him.

He was busy, he was under pressure, he had suffered too much.

People change. That's normal.

I knocked down each reason one by one, and one by one I built them back up again.

In the end I finally understood.

He couldn't bear to.

He had seen me at ten in the orphanage.

He had seen me at nineteen with all my hair gone.

He knew I had no one left in this life but him.

He had fallen in love with someone else, but he couldn't say it out loud.

He was afraid I wouldn't be able to survive it.

So he made up another person, and let that person be cruel to me.

That way, the one I hated wouldn't be him.

You see, he still loved me.

How thoughtful of him.

I held the red booklet against my chest and laughed for a long time.

Laughing and laughing, tears fell onto the cover.

I quickly wiped them away.

The next morning, the hospital.

The nurse needed to log my information and asked about my spouse.

I handed over the red booklet.

"Yes, I have one."

The person at the window took it, entered the number, entered it twice.

"It's not coming up in the system."

She turned to the inside page and rubbed her fingertip over the embossed seal.

When she finished, she looked at her finger.

"This seal is printed on."

I didn't understand and looked at her.

She hesitated.

"It's just they sell these online."

"Nine ninety-nine a copy."

A three-dollar medical record.

A nine-ninety-nine marriage certificate.

I let out a laugh and quickly said it wasn't possible.

"You don't know my husband. You don't know that he isn't that kind of person."

I told her he was the one who pulled me out of the orphanage when I was ten.

And that he sent the ones who bullied me to the police station.

I told her that when we were poorest, we split one tub of instant noodles across two meals, and every time he scooped all the noodles out for me and soaked the leftover bits in the broth for himself.

I told her he took me out to the edge of town to look at the stars, making a wish for me on each one.

"How could our marriage certificate possibly be fake?"

I hurried to pull out my phone, wanting to prove it to her.

My fingers trembled as I opened the photo album and flipped through them, one by one.

The first, a coffee shop.

Oswald and Davina sat side by side looking at a laptop, their heads close together.

I sat across from them, head down, stirring my cup.

The second, the steps at a scenic spot.

They walked in front, Davina laughing.

I trailed a dozen steps behind, holding up the camera.

The third, the fourth the tenth.

I flipped faster and faster.

A mall, an airport, a company party, that tree outside his office building.

Some of him eating, some of him in meetings, some of him asleep.

Every single one had Davina in it.

Either standing on his left, or sitting on his right.

Either holding his coat for him, or him carrying her bag for her.

And me, always outside the frame.

I flipped through them one by one, and the blood in me turned cold bit by bit.

The phone buzzed in my palm.

A message from Oswald popped up.

"It's pouring where I landed."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I stared at those two lines.

Before, every time he went on a business trip, I would write down the weather over there three days ahead.

Which days it would rain, which days it would turn cold, whether to bring an umbrella, which coat to bring.

I was afraid he'd get caught in the rain, because rain always gave him a fever.

This time, I forgot.

The medicine kept me dazed all day; one nap and half the day was gone.

I wanted to tell him I hadn't done it on purpose.

And I wanted to ask him: that marriage certificate, did you really buy it?

These words, I typed them out one by one, and deleted them one by one.

Never mind.

I wiped my eyes.

How many more times will we even get to talk?

In three years, every time we fought, he would leave me hanging for a long time.

The longest was two months.

Before, I had all the time in the world to wait.

Now I didn't.

"You can check the weather app yourself."

"From now on, you need to learn to take care of yourself."

The nurse leaned in and called me.

"Your bed's ready. Come with me."

I picked up the suitcase and followed her down the corridor.

4: 4

The room had two beds.

The nurse got the needle into my arm and told me to hold still.

The fluid slid down, drop by drop.

For some reason I suddenly wanted to tell someone.

To say I was leaving.

I opened my contacts and scrolled from the top down.

The front desk at Oswald's company, his assistant, his coworkers, his friends.

All the way to the bottom, forty-six people.

Forty-three of them were in there because of him.

I opened my feed too.

In all these years I had posted three times.

One for his promotion.

One for when he came back from a three-month business trip.

The last one was the soup I'd made, with the line, He says it's good.

Not one of those three had me in it.

So it turned out I didn't even have anywhere to say my last words.

My fingertip was still sliding down without thinking.

A notification popped up.

Oswald Harding and Davina Sanchez, heiress of the Sanchez family, announced their engagement today.

In the photo he stood half a step to Davina's side, his hand at her waist.

That sharp suit was the one I'd ironed last night.

The second button on the cuff had come loose, and I'd just sewn it back on for him.

I stared at that picture until my eyes ached.

By the time I came to, the call had already gone through.

To my surprise, there was none of the usual long wait. It connected on the first ring.

After a silence, it was Oswald who spoke first.

"You saw the news?"

I said nothing.

"It's just for now."

"I need the title to move up. You should understand that."

I still didn't speak.

He softened his voice, a patience I'd rarely heard in three years.

"There's nothing between me and her."

Maybe the silence angered him, because Oswald's voice went cold all at once.

"Rebecca, what exactly do you want?"

"I'm not that Oswald. If he wants to explain something to you, that's his business."

"You want to make a scene, wait for him to come out and make it."

The moment the words landed, my tears slid down without a sound.

"Oswald."

"Are you wearing the ring today?"

The other end went quiet.

I opened the video, and looked at that face, familiar and strange at once.

"Can you pass a message along to my Oswald for me?"

Oswald froze.

He pressed his lips together and couldn't get out a single word.

"All right."

I was smiling, and yet the tears kept falling.

"Oswald."

"I regret it."

"I regret choosing to believe you. I regret choosing to wait for you."

His face changed and he leaned close to the camera.

"Rebecca, what do you mean by that?"

A soft, coaxing woman's voice came from the other end.

"Oswald, it's our turn."

The image shook.

He looked at me, and I looked at him.

Two seconds later, he said that line to me again.

"Wait for me."

The screen went black and reflected my own face back at me.

Cheekbones jutting, eye sockets sunken.

I looked at that face and thought, Oswald is so clever.

When will he finally realize I ran out of time to wait for him long ago?

The medicine took hold, and I sank into sleep.

Early the next morning, a ringing woke me.

On the other end was Oswald's anxious voice.

"Are you at home?"

"No."

"Then go back now."

Before I could ask why, the voice on the other end changed.

"Rebecca."

It was Davina.

Her voice was soft, with a faint nasal note.

"Tonight is my and Oswald's engagement dinner, at The Grand Riverside Hotel."

"We're flying back this morning."

"But I left my keepsake in his study. Second drawer, a velvet box."

"Can you grab it for me and bring it over?"

"I need it before six."

I listened, thinking I must have heard wrong.

It took me a while to answer her.

"I can't get out."

"Why can't you get out?"

Her voice turned wounded in an instant.

"It's just one trip."

"Rebecca, this is the most important day of my and Oswald's whole lives."

"Just this once, just this one thing"

She started crying.

"You won't even do this for me?"

The phone was snatched away.

"Rebecca."

His voice held a banked fire.

"What could you possibly have going on?"

"Three years, and other than trailing after me, what have you ever had going on?"

I didn't answer right away. I was turning his words over.

All these years, I'd learned how medications were classified, checked the weather forecast every single day.

I'd sat through four whole nights outside the emergency room.

Our honeymoon tickets had been rebooked seven times.

He was right.

I really didn't have anything else going on.

I held the phone, leaning back against the hospital bed, looking at the sky outside.

The sky was very bright.

When I spoke, my voice was calm.

"You're right, Oswald."

"From now on, you're free."