"I have two requests." My voice was steadier than I expected, the phone heavy in my hand. Liam' s impatient sigh cut through the line. "Chloe, what the hell is this? We' re not anything anymore." I told him I was dying, a brain tumor. "I' ve chosen to end things on my own terms. Medically assisted." His response chilled me. "You' re lying. You' re doing this to ruin things for me. You always had a flair for the dramatic." The name Liam, once whispered in my sleep, now tasted like ash. My parents were gone, leaving me truly alone. Then, there they were: Liam and Bethany, my ex-fiancé and my former best friend, at our old restaurant. His smile vanished when he saw me, replaced by pure disgust. Bethany clung to him, her diamond sparkling. "We finally set the date!" she gushed. "October twenty-fifth!" My birthday. The day I was scheduled to die. I discovered the bitter truth in a dark cinema: Liam and Bethany' s affair began months before our breakup, a brutal betrayal hidden beneath his carefully crafted lies. He had not just left me; he had cheated, then let me blame myself. I confronted him, wounded by his callous admission: "It was easier that way. Less messy." He saw me as a drama queen, not a dying woman. He brought me to a hospital, still oblivious, convinced my collapse was hysterics. His final humiliation: demanding I pick songs for their wedding, his attempt to buy my silence for a thousand dollars. He hung up before I could refuse. He had left me no choice. I had to witness the depths of their betrayal, the audacity of Bethany' s wedding gift-a game console inspired by my intellectual property, inscribed with their wedding date, October 25th. It was a final, cruel twist of the knife, designed to erase me. But I had one final play. I would ensure Liam, the man who destroyed my life, would be there for its end. And I would deliver my final message, not in words, but in ashes, on his wedding day.
"I have two requests." My voice was steadier than I expected, the phone heavy in my hand.
Liam' s impatient sigh cut through the line. "Chloe, what the hell is this? We' re not anything anymore."
I told him I was dying, a brain tumor. "I' ve chosen to end things on my own terms. Medically assisted."
His response chilled me. "You' re lying. You' re doing this to ruin things for me. You always had a flair for the dramatic."
The name Liam, once whispered in my sleep, now tasted like ash. My parents were gone, leaving me truly alone.
Then, there they were: Liam and Bethany, my ex-fiancé and my former best friend, at our old restaurant. His smile vanished when he saw me, replaced by pure disgust.
Bethany clung to him, her diamond sparkling. "We finally set the date!" she gushed. "October twenty-fifth!"
My birthday. The day I was scheduled to die.
I discovered the bitter truth in a dark cinema: Liam and Bethany' s affair began months before our breakup, a brutal betrayal hidden beneath his carefully crafted lies. He had not just left me; he had cheated, then let me blame myself.
I confronted him, wounded by his callous admission: "It was easier that way. Less messy."
He saw me as a drama queen, not a dying woman. He brought me to a hospital, still oblivious, convinced my collapse was hysterics.
His final humiliation: demanding I pick songs for their wedding, his attempt to buy my silence for a thousand dollars. He hung up before I could refuse.
He had left me no choice.
I had to witness the depths of their betrayal, the audacity of Bethany' s wedding gift-a game console inspired by my intellectual property, inscribed with their wedding date, October 25th.
It was a final, cruel twist of the knife, designed to erase me.
But I had one final play. I would ensure Liam, the man who destroyed my life, would be there for its end. And I would deliver my final message, not in words, but in ashes, on his wedding day.
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