He shook his head, panicking. “What are you talking about? This thing with her isn’t real. It’s just a deal. One month. I’m pretending so she’ll save you. Don’t twist it. You’re my wife. You’re the one I love.”
He reached for my face.
I pulled the blanket up instead.
“I’m tired,” I whispered. “I need to sleep.”
His hand stayed in the air for a second. Then he pulled back and stood up.
“Fine,” he said. “Rest.”
The door closed behind him. The sound felt heavier than a gunshot.
I opened my eyes after he left. Tears slid into my pillow, silent, useless. I knew the truth. I didn’t have much time left. Aplastic anemia was eating me alive, slow and patient.
I forced myself out of bed later. Every step hurt. I went to the closet and dragged out an old dusty box hidden in the back.
Inside was my whole life with him.
Movie tickets from our first date. A cheap bracelet he bought me at a night market when he still smiled like a normal man. Polaroids from trips before blood, guns, and deals replaced love.
In every photo, I was smiling.
And his arms were always around me.