He Hated His Wife. They Lived Together for Fifteen Years. Every Single Morning He Saw Her, and That Last Year, Her Tiny Habits Drove Him Absolutely Mad.

**Diary Entry**

I despised my wife. We had lived together for fifteen yearsfifteen long years of seeing her every morning. But this past year, every little habit of hers began grating on my nerves. One, in particular, drove me mad: shed stretch her arms out while still in bed and say, *”Good morning, sunshine! Todays going to be lovely.”* Harmless words, but the sight of her thin arms and sleep-swollen face filled me with disgust.

Shed rise, walk to the window, and stare into the distance for a moment before shedding her nightdress and heading to the bathroom. Once, Id admired her body, her carefree spiritsometimes too bold for propriety. Now, though she was still slender, everything about her irritated me. Once, I nearly shoved her just to hurry her along, but I clenched my fists and snapped instead: *”Hurry up, I cant stand this!”*

She never rushed. She knew about my affairhad known for three years, even the womans name. Time had buried her wounded pride, leaving only quiet sadness. She forgave my temper, my indifference, my desperate grasp at reliving youth. But she refused to let anyone steal her peace. She lived deliberately, savouring every moment.

That was her choice after learning she was ill. The disease gnawed at her month by month, soon to claim victory. At first, she wanted to confessto tell family, share the burden. But the hardest days she bore alone, accepting the inevitable in silence. Her life ebbed away, yet each day brought a quiet wisdom.

She found solace in a tiny librarya ninety-minute journey, but every day she slipped into the narrow aisle marked *”The Mysteries of Life and Death”*, searching for a book that might hold all the answers.

Meanwhile, I went to my mistress. Everything there was bright, warm, familiar. For three years, Id “loved” her violentlyjealous, remorseful, unable to breathe without her young body. Today, I decided: *Im leaving my wife. Why torment all three of us?* I tore her photo into shreds, a symbol of resolve.

We agreed to meet at the restaurant where wed celebrated our fifteenth anniversary. She arrived first. Beforehand, Id rummaged through drawers for divorce papers, finding instead a dark-blue folder Id never seen. Insidetest results, medical reports, all stamped with her name.

The realisation struck like lightning. Cold sweat prickled my neck. *She was dying.* I googled the diagnosis. *”Six to eighteen months.”* The earliest reports were already six months old. My mind fogged. *Six to eighteen months.*

Autumn was lovelythe sun gentle, warming the soul. *”How strange, how beautiful life is,”* she thought. For the first time since her diagnosis, she pitied herself.

She watched people laugh, anticipating winter, then spring. She wouldnt see either again. Grief swelled inside her, spilling over in silent tears.

I paced the room, struck by lifes fleeting nature. Memories flooded backher young, hopeful face when we married. Had I ever loved her? Suddenly, those fifteen years felt stolen. Ahead lay happiness, youth, life

In her final days, I stayed by her side, overwhelmed by an unfamiliar love. Terrified of losing her, Id have given my life to keep her. If anyone had reminded me that a month earlier Id longed to leave her, Id have said, *”That wasnt me.”*

I saw her struggle, crying at night thinking I slept. There was no crueller sentence than knowing the ends date. Yet she clung to hope, however frail.

She died two months later. I lined the path from our house to the cemetery with flowers. Wept like a child at her burial. Aged a decade overnight.

At home, beneath her pillow, I found a noteher New Years wish: *”To be happy with him till my last day.”* They say such wishes come true. Perhaps they do, because that same year, I wrote: *”To be free.”*

In the end, we each got what we truly wantedas if life had granted our own damned wishes.

**Lesson:** Regret tastes bitterest when served too late.