Chapter 1

On my birthday, I had a brain tumor attack. My vision blurred, my thoughts scattered. While the doctors worked to stabilize me, they picked up my phone to call my family.

My wife answered, her tone sharp and impatient:

“Why are you so annoying? Are you seriously checking up on me again? I’m about to board a flight to Florence with Tim—don’t call me unless it’s an emergency!”

Then my daughter’s voice chimed in, casual and carefree:

“Honestly, if he dies, that’d be great. The insurance payout can go straight to my account. My boyfriend’s been eyeing a new motorcycle.”

Hearing that, I didn’t feel angry. Strangely, I felt... relieved.

Maybe it was finally time to leave this miserable life behind.

When I opened my eyes again, the doctor handed me my phone, his expression grim.

“Mr. Carter, the tumor is pressing against your nerves. You need surgery immediately. You should discuss this with your family.”

Still groggy, I held the phone loosely in my hand.

The emergency room was silent except for the faint hum of machines. I could feel the pity radiating from the other patients and their families. Some even turned away, discreetly wiping their tears.

I glanced at my phone screen—my wife, Monica, and my daughter, Julia, had already blocked me.

With no other choice, I sent a message to someone I thought I’d never contact: Monica’s first love, Tim.

“Please let Monica know she needs to come back. It’s urgent.”

To avoid any misunderstandings, I added:

“I want to talk to her about filing for divorce. It’s important.”

After spending a few hours recovering at the hospital, I picked up my prescription and headed home.

When I walked through the door, Monica was already seated on the couch.

She was dressed for vacation: oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, and a breezy bohemian maxi dress that swayed with every movement.

The moment she saw me, she let out a sharp laugh and slammed her sunglasses onto the coffee table.

“Seriously? What’s your deal now? Tim and I were at the airport, about to board, and you dragged me back here for this nonsense. God, no wonder Julia finds you insufferable!”

At 45, Monica had fine lines around her eyes, but with her impeccable skincare routine, her skin was still taut, her makeup flawless. Her bold red lipstick and voluminous waves made her look far younger than her age.

Behind her, Tim stood dutifully, massaging her shoulders. He leaned down, murmuring in her ear with an intimacy that made my stomach twist.

“Monica, calm down,” he said softly. “Let’s hear what Carter has to say. Maybe it’s actually important.”

Tim, of course, still carried himself like the gentleman he once was. Despite the stiffness in his Botoxed face, his tailored designer suit gave him an air of sophistication.

I stared at them and felt... nothing.

My mind drifted back to the day Monica forgot Julia’s third birthday cake. She’d been too distracted by Tim’s unexpected return to the country.

Later, when I picked up a drunken Monica from a bar, I overheard her telling her friends how I was just a stand-in for Tim.

Now, my graying hair and tired face bore no resemblance to the man she once loved.

Snapping back to the present, I pulled out the divorce papers and placed them on the table.

“Monica,” I said evenly, “let’s get a divorce.”

Her eyes flew open in disbelief, her body going rigid as if she hadn’t heard me correctly.

“What?” she spat, her voice rising. “First, you fake being sick to get me back from the airport, and now you’re throwing a tantrum about divorce? Carter, you’re almost fifty years old. When are you going to grow up?”

Her words stung, but I stayed calm.

Yes, I was turning 49 today.

If she’d gone into the kitchen, she would’ve seen the half-prepped ingredients I’d been cutting before the tumor attack—ingredients for dishes she and Julia loved.

But when I collapsed, there wasn’t a single family member around to notice.

There was no point sharing these thoughts, though. Monica would just call me dramatic and clingy.

People say the dying speak only the truth.

I had no intention of arguing. Instead, I smiled faintly.

“It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “I just had an epiphany. There’s no point holding you back from Tim anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed, but I continued.

“Last month, when you and Tim went to Alaska to see the northern lights, you probably didn’t hear that my mom passed away.”

Her lips parted slightly, but I didn’t let her interrupt.

“My dad died saving you from drowning all those years ago, and my mom pressured you into marrying me to repay that debt. I know that was unfair to you. You’ve always wanted to be with Tim.”

I gestured vaguely at the room around us.

“For the past twenty years, I’ve worked tirelessly at your company to help it go public. That was my way of paying you back for everything my mom put you through.”

I took a deep breath, my tone softening.

“She’s gone now. You don’t have to worry about her showing up at the office to yell at you or make a scene. You’re free, Monica.”

“For what it’s worth, I wish you and Tim the best. You’ve waited long enough—give him the life he deserves.”

The weight I’d carried for years lifted as I spoke those words.

Monica, however, clenched the divorce papers in her hands, her knuckles whitening.

Her voice trembled as she said, “I’ve put up with you for over twenty years. What about Julia? Have you even thought about how she’ll feel about this?”

Julia’s voice echoed in my head: “If he dies, that’d be great.”

I smiled faintly.

“She’ll be fine,” I replied, nodding toward Tim. “She likes him more than me anyway. Let him take care of her.”

Years ago, when Julia was little, Monica had already started relying on Tim to help with parenting duties. She’d spent years building up his image in Julia’s eyes, ensuring he’d be her favorite.

Now, I was just giving them what they wanted.

But instead of looking pleased, Monica’s face darkened. She bit her lip so hard it looked like she might draw blood.

Her chest rose and fell as she tried to compose herself, her gaze locked on me, searching for the anger or jealousy I’d always shown in the past.

But this time, all she saw was indifference.

Her voice dropped, cold and sharp:

“Fine. You want a divorce? Then you’re leaving with nothing. No house, no money. Nothing.”

She stared at me, confident I’d back down.

After all, she’d spent years mocking me, calling me a gold-digger who married her for her family’s wealth. She’d always believed I’d never leave because I couldn’t survive without her money.

But I simply nodded.

“That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t need the house, the money, or even Julia.”