He held up a medical record in his hand. Brain cancer. Three years ago, I had left to undergo surgery and fight for my life. I never told him—I had said I was studying abroad. I thought I was sparing him, but now it all seemed laughable.
I stared at him coldly. “So what if I did?”
He faltered, unable to respond.
“Hailey,” he finally said, his voice unusually gentle. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear I won’t fail you again.”
In the following days, Jason visited the hospital often. He brought food—meals I was either allergic to or didn’t care for—and tried clumsily to care for me.
Then one day, he took a deep breath and said, “Hailey, I think… I need to put our engagement on hold.”
I froze, my expression blank as he continued.
“All these years, I’ve seen Paula as your shadow. I’ve hurt her so much and now she’s broken. All she wants is a home—a little peace. I need to fix what I’ve done.”
He squeezed my hand tightly, as if the gesture would somehow reassure me.
“But don’t worry,” he said earnestly. “I promised not to fail you. Once Paula is healed, I’ll divorce her and come back to you.”