The Love That Came Too Late

When the doctor told me I had cancer and my time was running out, I started transferring all my assets to my wife's name.

But on our third wedding anniversary, I saw her kissing her first love on the side of the road.

Tears streamed down her face as she leaned into his arms and whispered, "You know I never loved him. I only married him because I had no choice."

That was the moment I called my lawyer and decided to donate everything to charity.

1

I crumpled the diagnosis report and tossed it into the trunk of my car, clutching the property transfer agreement tightly instead.

Today was supposed to be special-our third anniversary.

I had booked a fancy restaurant, arranged a private fireworks display, and even planned a sea of roses, just like I'd always promised my beloved wife, Rose Winters.

Jake, my assistant, dialed her number for me, and when she answered, I asked softly, "Honey, are you done with work? I'll pick you up for dinner."

Her voice was clipped, impatient. "I have to work overtime today. Just send me the location. I'll come by myself later."

Before I could say another word, she hung up.

Jake frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Mr. Brooks, are you sure you want to leave everything to her? You're dying, and she doesn't even seem to care."

I didn't respond. I didn't need to.

Even Jake could see what I'd been trying to ignore for years.

We waited at the restaurant until it closed. She never showed up. Not a single message.

I left with a melting cake in hand, the streets around me buzzing with neon lights and honking cars.

Just as I was about to text her, Jake pointed ahead. "Mr. Brooks, isn't that... Mrs. Brooks?"

Under the glow of a massive Ferris wheel, Rose was locked in a passionate embrace with Mike Gordon, her childhood sweetheart. They kissed like no one else existed, like the world had faded away.

When they finally pulled apart, she buried her face in his chest, her voice trembling with tears. "You know I never loved him. I only married him because I had no choice."

I looked down at the cake in my hands. The cream had melted, dripping everywhere, just like my heart-lost, messy, and without a place to belong.

2

I always knew Rose didn't love me.

But hearing her say it to someone else? That hurt more than I expected.

Years ago, my family had paid for her grandfather's medical treatment. It was why she married me.

I told her once, "Rose, you don't have to force yourself. Our families were close. Helping was the right thing to do."

She didn't respond. Instead, she stood on her toes and kissed me.

I thought it was her way of saying she cared.

I thought maybe, just maybe, she loved me too.

But I was wrong. Her heart had always belonged to Mike.

He'd left town after his parents' divorce, and I never knew if they stayed in touch.

Now, he was back.

Our marriage was polite but distant.

We were both busy, never truly connecting.

I gave her the easiest job at my company just so I could see her every day.

But she said it didn't fulfill her, so she left for a rival company.

I let her go.

Everyone envied me for having such a perfect wife-calm, reasonable, never arguing.

People around me envied me for marrying such a good wife, who always discussed things with me instead of arguing.

But I knew the truth. Her heart was never mine.

I never stopped trying to win her over. I believed she'd eventually see how much I loved her.

But now, I didn't have the time.

I'd been diagnosed with lung cancer.

I couldn't give her a lifetime of love, so I decided to give her all my money instead.

And then, on the same day, she forgot our anniversary and spent the night kissing Mike.

3

I waited for her at the dining table until 4:30 a.m.

When she finally walked in, her face was glowing with happiness.

My anniversary gift-a melted cake with the words "three years" barely visible-seemed pathetic in comparison.

I pretended not to hear the car outside and said softly, "Honey, you're back. Working overtime must have been tough."

The cake on the table had already melted, and only the three words "third anniversary" could be vaguely seen.

She glanced at the cake, her expression faltering for a moment.

"You haven't slept?" she asked.

"I was waiting for you," I replied.

She quickly apologized, tapping her forehead. "Sorry, I forgot about the anniversary. Let's celebrate tomorrow, okay?"

She casually stuffed a bag into the nearby storage cabinet.

I shook my head, forcing a smile. "I'm fine. But you should come back to our own company. Working overtime until this hour makes me worry about you. We have enough money; even if you don't work, you won't spend it all in a lifetime."

She waved her hand, declining.

She quickly cleaned up the cake, apologetically kissed my face, and turned to go to shower.

As she lowered her head, I clearly saw the kissing mark on her collarbone.

The pain in my chest struck again, so intense it made me want to vomit, my heart felt squeezed and released repeatedly, only to sink heavily.

I covered my mouth and coughed.

She turned back, concerned. "Are you coming down with a cold? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

I pressed my lips together, shaking my head as a metallic taste filled my mouth, triggering a fit of coughing.

She walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet.

Thankfully, she couldn't hear me.

4

I climbed into bed, curling up under the covers as the pain in my chest intensified, radiating through my body.

The room lights flicked off, and she slipped her arms around my waist from behind, her breath warm against my ear. "Are you mad, honey?" she whispered.

I shook my head, turning to face her and pulling her close.

But she gently wriggled free, smiling sweetly. "Good. I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."

With that, she turned over and was out in seconds.

She must have been drained.

Sleep eluded me. I got up for a glass of water, curiosity gnawing at me. I opened the storage cabinet and pulled out the bag she'd stuffed in earlier.

Inside was Mike's white shirt, smeared with her lipstick.

A keepsake?

I must be losing my mind.

I couldn't help but think Rose and Mike were meant for each other-a mutual attraction I'd never be part of.

We'd grown up as neighbors, then classmates.

I'd always loved Rose, but her heart had always leaned toward Mike.

He was reckless, unreliable, and yet she seemed drawn to him.

Such an unreliable person wasn't worthy of Rose's lifelong commitment.

When I found out I had cancer, I even hoped someone would step in to care for Rose after I was gone.

But not Mike.

Rose was too clumsy, too dependent.

She couldn't even wash her own clothes. I'd done it for her, a labor of love I never minded.

My assistant Jake Redfield once scolded me, "Mr. Brooks, you're a CEO, yet at home, you're washing clothes and cooking for your wife. If the employees knew, they'd laugh at you."

I'd simply replied, "Let them laugh. I don't care."

I'd once thought I'd happily wash her clothes for a lifetime.

But now, Mike had shown up at the worst possible time, and my instincts screamed that I couldn't let this go.

As I sipped water, my phone buzzed. A text from my doctor, "Mr. Brooks, I still recommend you come in for treatment. There's always a chance for a miracle."

A miracle was deemed a miracle precisely because it seldom came to pass.

I replied, "No, thank you. I know my condition. A couple more years, a couple less-it doesn't matter."

Once, I'd clung to life because I wanted to spend it with Rose.

Now, I couldn't find a reason to keep fighting.

5

The next morning, I found Rose hand-washing clothes-Mike's white shirt, to be exact.

She quickly moved the basin behind her, frowning when she saw me. "Honey, you... haven't gone to work yet?"

I didn't want to embarrass her, so I kept my distance.

"Not yet. I have other plans today. I didn't sleep well, so I'm going back to bed. You carry on."

She visibly relaxed as I walked away.

I wanted to tell her I'd never humiliate her, that I'd give her whatever she wanted.

But seeing her wash that shirt with such care stung.

She'd never lifted a finger at home -I'd done everything, even her laundry. Now, she was washing his shirt.

Since falling ill, I'd stepped back from managing the company and decided to pick Rose up from work.

She'd always made excuses -I was too handsome, she didn't want colleagues to notice me, or I was too busy running the company.

I'd accepted every excuse, thinking my persistence would eventually warm her heart.

But I hadn't realized how unyielding her heart was, like a fortress I couldn't breach.

Now I saw that to me, her heart was as cold as stone, while to Mike, it was as soft as the softest cotton.

I waited outside her office and saw them walk out together, side by side.

Mike was wearing the designer shirt Rose had given me for my first birthday with her -a gift I'd treasured so much I'd never worn it.

Now, it clung to Mike's frame.

Mike spotted me first, greeting me with a broad smile.

I walked over calmly, while Rose faltered. "Larry? Why are you here?"

"I came to pick you up from work. Is that not allowed?" My voice carried a hint of defiance.

In front of Mike, she wouldn't even call me "honey."

Mike quickly stepped in, tugging at the collar of the shirt. "Larry, sorry about this. I got drunk last night and didn't have a change of clothes, so Rose lent me yours. We've been classmates for years-you don't mind, do you? If you do, I'll buy you a new one."

I forced a smile. "Keep it if you like it. I have plenty of shirts like this."

Rose's tense expression softened. "It's fine. He doesn't like this shirt. You can keep it."

Mike's tone brightened. "I love it. I'll wear it all the time."

I knew it was a blatant provocation, but I kept smiling, my other hand clenched into a fist.

My instincts screamed that I couldn't sit back and do nothing anymore.

6

Rose's company held its annual party earlier than usual. She had never taken me to such events, the kind where she could introduce me to her colleagues.

Maybe, deep down, she never truly acknowledged me as her husband.

When I saw the invitation, I decided to test her. "Honey, can you take me to your company's annual party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Her hand paused mid-motion, and she replied flatly, "This year, the company didn't ask us to bring family."

I wasn't surprised. I'd braced myself for this answer, so I stayed calm and didn't press further.

On the day of the party, she dressed up like a princess ready to escape into a new world.

Meanwhile, I looked like a shadow of myself-cheeks sunken, eyes bloodshot.

The toll of my illness made me avoid mirrors altogether.

After she finished getting ready, she hurried downstairs, her skirt swishing behind her.

I changed into a black suit and followed her, though I knew I didn't belong there.

At the party, after the performances, Rose took the stage as the company's director to give a speech.

When she finished, Mike rushed up to help her down.

She leaned into him, her face glowing with happiness.

The crowd erupted in cheers, calling them a perfect match and joking about when they'd get married.

Rose smiled and said, "Soon, soon."

Amid the noise, I stood up slowly.

Rose's eyes met mine, and her expression shifted. She pushed Mike away and hurried toward me.

I gave her one last look, then turned and left.

7

Even after I caught her, Rose wouldn't bring up divorce.

Not yet, anyway.

She felt indebted to me, and that sense of duty kept her from being the one to end things.

She was waiting for me to propose.

That night, when she came home, I pretended to be asleep.

As a peace offering, she left a new shirt on the bedside table.

After checking a few times to make sure I was really asleep, she grabbed her phone and slipped out to the balcony.

Soon, her laughter drifted in-light, carefree, and utterly unfamiliar.

In three years of marriage, I'd never heard her laugh like that.

The pain in my chest flared, and my temples throbbed.

My coughing had gotten worse lately, and I buried my face in the blanket to muffle the sound.

My phone lit up under the covers.

Another message from my doctor, urging me to come in for treatment.

I turned it off. This time, I was done fighting.

I couldn't help but wonder whether Rose would regret it when I died.

She stayed on the phone for an hour before finally hanging up.

When she came back to bed, I pretended to stretch and got up to use the bathroom.

I turned on the faucet to drown out the sound of my coughing.

Finally, I could cough freely.

She still heard and footsteps approached me.

I hurriedly raised my hand to cover my mouth.

"Honey," she said through the door, "Mike's part of the company now, so he was at the party. I didn't mean to leave you out. If you don't say anything, I'll assume you're not mad anymore."

After she left, I looked down at my hand.

Blood stained my fingertips, spreading no matter how much I wiped it away.

It hit me then- I might not have much time left.

But before I go, I needed to make sure everything was in order.