“Absolutely not,” Andrew said. “Everything goes to Ryan. Blood is blood. Isabel’s young—she can find someone else when I’m gone. If she’s not too worn out.”
“Lucky guy.”
“Just practical,” Andrew replied. “Hope keeps her around. Cheaper than a care facility. She’s my luxury maid.”
The words crushed me.
I stared at the bag in my hands. The breakfast. The sacrifice. The love.
One tear slipped down my cheek—not grief, but fury.
Five years flashed through my mind. Caring for him while sick myself. Selling heirlooms to pay bills. Holidays spent alone while Ryan partied.
I wanted to scream. But I didn’t.
If I exploded, I’d be the villain. The selfish wife abandoning a disabled man. I’d leave with nothing.
So I stepped back. Quietly.
I tossed the bag into a trash bin.
“Goodbye,” I whispered.
I left the hospital.
In my car, I screamed until my throat burned. When I finally stopped, I saw something different in my reflection—resolve.
My phone buzzed. Messages from Andrew: Where are you? I’m hungry.
I replied calmly: “Car trouble. I’ll be late.”
Then I drove to the public library.
From that moment, everything changed.