I didn’t want repayment.
I wanted my husband alive.
That was enough.
Then, finally, after months of treatment, we heard the words we’d been waiting for.
No evidence of cancer.
Cancer-free.
I covered my face and cried.
Theo was alive.
We had survived.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Dr. Kahn stepped out of the room to give us a few private minutes.
I remember smiling through my tears.
I started talking about what we should do to celebrate.
Maybe take a trip.
Maybe have dinner somewhere nice.
Maybe simply go home and sleep without an alarm for the first time in months.
Theo didn’t answer.
He was staring at the paperwork in his lap.
Then he looked at me.
“I want a divorce.”
The room suddenly felt freezing.
“What?”
“I’ve made my decision.”
That’s all he said.
No explanation.
No argument.
No warning.
Just those words.
After eleven years of marriage.
After eleven months of cancer.
After everything I had done to help him survive.
I couldn’t understand.
“Why?” I asked.
He wouldn’t answer.
He picked up his bag and walked out.
I watched the door close behind him.
And I stayed there.
Completely numb.
I don’t know how long I sat in that chair.
Then Dr. Kahn returned.
He didn’t ask where Theo had gone.
He already knew.
Instead, he pulled a chair next to mine.
Then he said:
“Theo gave me permission weeks ago to tell you something if this day ever came.”
My heart sank.
“What?”
The doctor took a breath.
“Your husband found something before his diagnosis.”
I stared at him.
“What did he find?”
An old email.
