He Hated His Wife. They’d Been Married for Fifteen Years. For Fifteen Long Years He Saw Her Every Morning, Until One Day Her Tiny Habits Drove Him Mad.

He despised his wife. They had lived together for fifteen years, and for all those years, he saw her each morning. But over the last year, every little habit of hers had grated on him unbearably. One in particularstretching her arms while still in bed and saying, “Good morning, sunshine! Todays going to be brilliant.” A harmless phrase, but her thin arms and sleep-swollen face filled him with disgust.

Shed rise, walk to the window, and gaze into the distance for a few seconds before slipping off her nightgown and heading to the bathroom. Once, in the early days, hed adored her body, her carefree spirit that sometimes crossed into impropriety. Though she was still slender, the sight of her now irritated him. Once, hed even wanted to shove her, just to speed up her morning routine, but he clenched his fists and only snapped, “Hurry up, Im sick of waiting!”

She never hurried. She knew about his affair, had even met the woman hed been seeing for three years. Time had buried the wounds to her pride, leaving only a quiet sorrow of being unwanted. She forgave his temper, his indifference, his desperate grasp at reliving youth. But she refused to let anyone steal her peaceshe lived deliberately, savoring every minute.

Shed made that choice the day she learned she was ill. The disease consumed her month by month, and soon it would win. At first, she wanted to tell everyoneshare the burden, ease the weight. But the worst days she endured alone, facing the end in silence. Her life drained slowly, yet each day birthed a quiet wisdom in her.

She found solace in a little libraryan hour and a halfs journey, but every day she slipped into the narrow aisle marked “Secrets of Life and Death” by the elderly librarian, searching for a book that might answer all her questions.

Meanwhile, he went to his mistress. There, everything was bright, warm, familiar. Theyd been together three years, and all that time, hed “loved” her with a feverish, jealous passion, unable to breathe when apart from her young body. Today, he arrived resolved: hed leave his wife. Why torment all three of them? He didnt love herhe hated her. A new happiness waited. He pulled his wifes photo from his wallet and tore it to shreds, sealing his decision.

They agreed to meet at the restaurant where theyd celebrated their fifteenth anniversary six months earlier. She arrived first. Hed stopped home beforehand, rifling through drawers for divorce papers. In one, he found a dark blue folder hed never seen. He tore off the tape, expecting some damning secretinstead, he found stacks of medical reports, test results, certificatesall bearing her name.

The realization struck like lightning. Cold sweat prickled his skin. She was ill. He searched the diagnosis online. The screen displayed a grim prognosis: “6 to 18 months.” The dates showed shed known for half a year already. His thoughts blurred. One phrase echoed: “6 to 18 months.”

Autumn was gloriousthe sun gentle, warming the soul. “How strange, how beautiful life is,” she thought. For the first time since her diagnosis, she felt pity for herself.

She walked, watching people rejoicewinter was coming, then spring. Shed never see another. Grief swelled inside her and spilled over in tears.

He paced the room, struck for the first time by lifes fleeting nature. He remembered her young, full of hope when theyd married. He had loved her once. Now it all felt lostfifteen years, as if theyd never been. As if the future still held everything: happiness, youth, life…

In her final days, he hovered over her, barely leaving her side, and discovered an unexpected joy. He feared losing her, wouldve given anything to keep her. If anyone had reminded him how hed despised her a month ago, hed have said, “That wasnt me.”

He watched her struggle to let go, saw her cry at night, thinking he slept. He understood no punishment was crueler than knowing your end. He saw her cling to fragile hope.

She died two months later. He lined the path from their house to the churchyard with flowers. He wept like a child as they lowered the coffin, aged terribly overnight.

At home, beneath her pillow, he found a notea New Years wish: “To be happy with him till the end.” They say New Years wishes come true. Perhaps they do, for that same year, he wrote: “To be free.”

Each got what they truly wantedas if it had all been by their own design.