After ten years of marriage, my husband's old flame returned to Seattle.
To be with her, he bribed a doctor to forge a terminal diagnosis.
On my birthday, he knelt before me, papers in hand, begging me to let him go.
I stared into his eyes. "Ethan, this illness… is it real?"
His voice was firm. "It's real. A late-stage neurodegenerative disease."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
What he didn't know was that everyone in my family gets a once-in-a-lifetime chance to turn spoken words into reality.
And he'd just used it to curse himself with a very real, very terminal illness.
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1
For Ethan's birthday, I’d planned the perfect surprise—a romantic candlelight dinner at home.
Instead, he dropped to his knees before me, holding a forged diagnosis for a neurodegenerative disease.
"Ava, the test results are in. I have a degenerative brain disease," he said, his eyes filled with a well-rehearsed sorrow. "It's terminal."
My heart clenched, but as his words sank in, a dark, secret relief washed over me.
Because everyone in my family gets a single chance to make spoken words reality. As long as you use this chance without the other person knowing, you can alter their fate.
I gazed at the grief etched on Ethan's still-handsome face and used my chance without a second thought.
Once used, it can never be undone.
My eyes filled with anticipation as I asked him, "Is your illness… is it real?"
But his next words plunged me into an icy abyss.
Ethan looked at me and nodded firmly. "The doctor said I only have a year left..."
"Ava, my whole life, I've worked hard for the company, fought for our family. I've never had a life of my own. Now, with only a year left, I want to live for myself, just this once."
"Chloe and I... we've lost ten years. This time, I don't want to miss our chance again."
My heart grew colder with every word. I clutched the corner of my dress, my gaze turning pleading.
"Ethan, I'm asking you one last time. Is it real?"
Just say no, I screamed in my head. Just deny it!
Ethan, as long as you say none of this is real, the illness will vanish, and you can live!
But Ethan was resolute, his tone tinged with a joy he couldn't quite suppress.
"Ava, this is the test result from the best hospital in Seattle."
"I've really been diagnosed. Late-stage degenerative brain disease."
The candlelight dinner on the table had grown cold, the birthday cake I had specially prepared for him melting.
When I tried to stand and clear the dishes, my hand trembled, and I knocked a crystal glass to the floor. It shattered.
It was from a set Ethan and I had custom-ordered for our wedding.
Our initials were engraved on it.
Now, it was just a pile of glittering shards on the floor. Just like us.
I closed my eyes, suppressing the bitterness that rose in my throat.
"Fine," I whispered, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
