"Dr. Pierce, I’ve made my choice; I choose euthanasia!"
Dione Crestmont's voice trembled as she spoke into the phone, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
Just five minutes earlier, a message had shattered her fragile world. Cedric Rutherford's female apprentice had sent her a text. [We slept together last night, and he didn’t use protection.]
Attached was a damning photo of Cedric, shirtless, with hickeys starkly visible on his neck.
Her thoughts drifted to a time when her condition had stabilized, and Dr. Pierce had reassured her that her illness wouldn’t prevent her from having children. Hopeful and naïve, she had asked Cedric if he wanted a child.
At the time, Cedric had gently stroked her hair and said with a soft chuckle, "No. A child would steal some of your love from me, and I’d get jealous. Besides, I couldn’t bear to see you endure the pain of childbirth."
For ten long years of marriage, they had always used protection. But now, he had slept with a woman he had known for less than six months, throwing caution to the wind as if her trust had meant nothing.
In the end, her faith in him had been a cruel mistake.
On the other end of the call, Dr. Pierce heaved a weary sigh. "Just hold on a little longer. A suitable kidney donor might turn up. You’re only thirty… there’s still hope."
Dione’s heart clenched. She had been battling lupus for years, but it was a year ago when her test results confirmed the worst: kidney failure. Without a donor, her body felt like a rose withering under the scorching sun.
"I’ve made up my mind. Please make the arrangements," Dione’s voice was hoarse, yet each word carried unyielding resolve.
Dr. Pierce let out another sigh, one heavy with resignation. "Alright, I’ll take care of it."
Half an hour later, his message arrived. The euthanasia was scheduled for the fifth of the following month, the same day that marked her tenth wedding anniversary with Cedric.
Twenty-seven days remained.
——
After replying, Dione took a deep, trembling breath, her gaze lost in the expanse beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.
Ten years ago, she had followed Cedric to Cedar Ridge, dreaming of a brighter future as an apprentice under a master sculptor. In their darkest days, they had slept in a park, surviving on a single pack of instant noodles. She had taken up a job as a dishwasher, scraping together enough to support them. At the same time, Cedric poured all his energy into sculpting under his mentor’s guidance.
Her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. In just two years, Cedric had mastered his craft, earning international acclaim with a prestigious sculpting award.
With his exceptional talent and striking charm, Cedric soon caught the eye of a media company. They polished his image, and his fame soared to dazzling heights. By their fifth year in Cedar Ridge, he had paid off their first home, a spacious flat, and had it registered under Dione’s name.
At the time, guilt had weighed heavily on him. Holding her close, Cedric had wept in her arms, his voice trembling.
"Dione, you worked tirelessly as a dishwasher just to support my dream. It broke my heart. I swear I’ll never let you down for as long as I live."
The sound of the door creaking open jolted Dione back to the present. Cedric had returned.
Dressed sharply in a black suit, he stood at the entrance, swapping his shoes while his eyes remained glued to his phone. The faint glow illuminated his chiseled features as his fingers moved swiftly across the screen.
"Cedric, let’s get a divorce," Dione said, her tone so detached it sounded as if she were merely asking him about dinner.
Cedric froze, his movements halting mid-step. Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, his brows furrowing slightly. Without a word, he strode toward her with an air of composed deliberation.
As if nothing had transpired, Cedric wrapped his arms around her, his deep, velvety voice brushing against her ear.
"Are you upset with me, wife?"
He let out a low chuckle, his tone casual. "Last night, I was out drinking with Laurent Lancaster, the head of Lancaster Group. He’s planning to build an amusement park and handed me all the sculpture work. It’s a huge opportunity."
Liar.
He lied so effortlessly now, without so much as a flicker of guilt in his eyes.
Dione didn’t confront him. Instead, she furrowed her brow, her expression unreadable.
The cloying scent of perfume clung to Cedric’s suit, a fragrance she recognized instantly. The saleswoman had called it "After Affair Perfume," describing it as alluring, almost scandalous. Back then, she’d dismissed it as too provocative, too bold for someone like her.
But what struck her most was that Cedric, with his rhinitis, couldn’t tolerate strong scents. For years, she had chosen perfumes with barely-there aromas just for his comfort.
