Three Months to Live, One Husband to Lose

1: 1

My memory has been bad since I was a child.

The year I turned ten, I forgot to send my mother a Mother's Day greeting.

Not long after, she divorced my father, took my sister, and vanished without a trace.

I cried and begged forgiveness, and my father, frantic and worn down, shoved me away.

"Your mom doesn't love you anymore. You could cry your eyes blind and she still wouldn't come back!"

At twelve, I forgot to buy my father his sleeping pills.

By the time the police came for me, his body had bloated in the water. All he left behind was a farewell letter.

"Clara Henson, Dad's so tired. I don't have the strength to love you anymore."

From that day on, I understood: the moment I forgot something tied to a person, it meant that person had stopped loving me.

So I always left first, before anyone could leave me.

Everyone around me praised how sharp I was, how decisive.

After I married, I never once forgot anything connected to my husband.

I was certain, beyond any doubt, that my marriage was happy.

Until I saw a post from my husband's intern, showing off.

【The boss canceled his wedding anniversary just to celebrate my promotion. I'm so lucky!】

My fingers shook so badly I accidentally tapped "like."

Wedding anniversary?

Today?

I smoothed out the brain cancer diagnosis and spent the whole afternoon finally accepting the exit ticket fate had handed me.

1

When my husband, Barnaby Matthews, came home, I was counting up the anniversary gifts he'd given me over the years.

Seven years of marriage. Seven snow globes.

He'd always given them on the day itself. This year he'd given it a week early.

Which meant that a week ago he'd already decided to save today for his assistant.

I heard the sound of his keys going down, and I didn't get up to meet him the way I always had.

Barnaby saw me sitting on the floor and rushed over, lifting me into his arms and setting me gently on the couch, his voice as tender as ever.

"Clara, I really did have something come up today."

He tucked the loose strands of hair back from my face. His cuff carried the perfume his assistant liked.

I frowned and pushed him off.

"I saw it. Mia Henson's post."

Mia Henson. His assistant.

Plenty of people at the company called her the boss's wife.

Three days ago, I'd dressed up carefully and arranged to meet her, thinking I was some warrior defending my marriage.

But the girl just clutched her chest and said her heart condition was acting up.

And just like that, I lost, completely.

I watched my own husband scoop her up and walk out.

Barnaby suddenly gripped my wrist, looking at me as if I'd committed some unforgivable sin.

"I told you not to do anything reckless, and you don't listen to a word of it. Now you're spying on her posts? She has a heart condition. If something happens to her, you'll regret it and it'll be too late!"

"Why would I regret it?"

At my blank confusion, his breathing grew heavier.

"She's your own sister. Don't tell me you still haven't recognized her?"

A window shattered somewhere in my memory.

Old childhood grievances tore themselves loose in the broken glass, turning into a thick dust that clung to my lungs until I could barely breathe.

I finally remembered. I did have a sister, one born with a heart defect.

The whole family had revolved around her since we were small.

The time I suddenly collapsed and split my head open, blood staining half my face, my mother accused me of hurting myself to steal attention.

She locked me alone on the balcony.

After that, no matter how badly my head hurt, I never made a sound about it again.

The doctor said that if I'd gone to the hospital in time back then, it would never have grown into what it is now.

Thinking of the three months the doctor had given me, my throat went tight.

"Why should I always be the one to give in to her? Do you have any idea what today is for me—"

Before I could finish, Barnaby took a call.

"Barnaby, I want to apologize to my sister, but my chest hurts so much…"

He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his car keys. "Where are you? I'm coming right now!"

"I'm at the restaurant where we had our date."

Date.

I repeated the word silently to myself, and then Barnaby was yanking me up. "Come on!"

My head began to throb again. "I'm not going."

"Clara, you're this cold-blooded. No wonder your mother chose your sister over you back then!"

My mind went blank.

Disappointed, he let go of me, never seeing how close I was to crumpling to the floor.

On his way out, he swept the gifts off the table in one violent motion.

Seven snow globes. Not one survived.

Seven years of marriage, crushed into rubble.

"Barnaby…"

I reached for help on instinct.

But the only answer was the heavy slam of the door.

The room went black, and I fainted.

When I woke, the clock read three in the morning.

The house was dead silent.

The living room was scattered with broken glass and puddles of water. I stared at it for a long time, puzzled, unable to remember what any of it had been.

Numbly I swept it all into the trash, without a single pang of loss.

The notes app on my phone lit up with a reminder for an important date.

I frowned, confused.

I turned it off.

I slept straight through until afternoon, when Barnaby suddenly ripped the blanket off me. I jerked awake and shrank back.

His face was livid, as if I'd done something terrible.

Behind him, Mia Henson was smiling, her head nearly resting on his shoulder, calling out sweetly to curry favor.

"Sis~"