In the fourth year of my marriage to Frederick, the love of his life got divorced and he returned to our country.
What was far worse was, I was diagnosed with cancer, nearing my end.
Having less than half a year left to live, I continued to play the role of Frederick's docile wife.
I kept my act up until my death.
Frederick, after reading the diaries I left behind, completely broke down.
Holding the thin diagnostic report, I stood at the hospital entrance and contemplated calling Frederick.
I clicked on the contact interface, then exited without dialing.
His call, however, came first.
His voice was as cool and deep as ever on the other end of the line, but softened slightly when he called my name.
"Cecil, I have something tonight and won't be home for dinner. I might come home late—you should go to bed early." Just like that, all the words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat.
"... Okay."
As curt as always, I thought. My phone screen had turned black, yet I remained in the same position.
Setting on the horizon was the sun, bloody as ever.
