He Hated His Wife. They Lived Together for Fifteen Years. For Fifteen Years, He Saw Her Every Morning—Until Her Tiny Habits Drove Him Mad the Final Year.

He despised his wife. Theyd spent fifteen years togetherfifteen long years of waking up to her every morning. But this past year, every little habit of hers had started grating on him. Especially one: shed stretch her arms out in bed, still half-asleep, and say, *”Good morning, sunshine! Todays going to be lovely.”* On the surface, harmlessbut her bony arms and puffy morning face filled him with revulsion.

Shed get up, wander to the window, and stare into the distance for a few seconds. Then shed slip off her nightgown and head to the bathroom. Once, in their early days, hed adored her body, her carefree spirit, even when it edged into impropriety. Now, though she was still slender, the sight of her irritated him. Once, hed even considered shoving her just to hurry her alongbut he clenched his fists and snapped instead, *”Hurry up, Ive had enough of this!”*

She never rushed. She knew about his affairhad known for three years, even met the girl. Time had buried the wounds to her pride, leaving only a quiet sadness, a sense of being unnecessary. She forgave his aggression, his indifference, his desperate grasp at reliving youth. But she refused to let anyone steal her peaceshe lived deliberately, savouring every moment.

Shed made that choice when she found out she was ill. The disease ate at her month by month, and soon, it would win. At first, shed wanted to tell everyoneshare the burden, ease it. But she endured the hardest days alone, facing the end in silence. Her life was slipping away, but with each day came a quiet wisdom, like an observer of her own fate.

She found solace in a tiny libraryan hour and a halfs journey, but every day, shed weave through the narrow aisles under a hand-painted sign the old librarian had labelled *”Secrets of Life and Death,”* searching for a book that might hold all the answers.

Meanwhile, he went to his lover. Everything there was bright, warm, familiar. Three years theyd been meeting, and all that time, hed “loved” her in a twisted wayjealous, guilty, unable to breathe when away from her youthful body. Today, he arrived resolved: *Im ending it. Why torment all three of us?* He didnt love his wifehe hated her. A new happiness would begin here. He pulled her photo from his wallet and tore it to shreds, a show of determination.

Theyd agreed to meet at the restaurant where, six months earlier, theyd celebrated their fifteenth anniversary. She arrived first. Hed stopped at home beforehand, rummaging through drawers for divorce papers. In one, he found a dark blue foldernever seen it before. He ripped off the tape, bracing for blackmail, but instead found stacks of medical reports, test results, stamped certificatesall bearing her name.

The realisation hit like a bolt of lightning, a cold sweat drenching him. *Shes sick.* He googled the diagnosis. The screen flashed a grim line: *”6 to 18 months.”* He checked the datessix months had already passed. His mind went blank except for that phrase, looping: *6 to 18 months.*

Autumn was beautifulsunlight gentle but warming the soul. *”What a strange, what a beautiful life,”* she thought. For the first time since her diagnosis, she felt a pang of pity for herself.

As she walked, she watched people laughing, looking forward to winter, then spring. Shed never feel that again. The hurt welled up inside her, spilling out in tears.

He paced the room, struck for the first time by how fleeting everything was. He remembered her young, hopeful, when theyd just married. He *had* loved her once. Now, it all felt lostfifteen years, gone like theyd never existed. As if ahead lay everything: happiness, youth, life

In her final days, he hovered over her, barely leaving her side, overwhelmed by an unnameable happiness. Terrified of losing her, hed have given his life to keep her. If someone had reminded him that a month ago, hed hated her and wanted a divorce, hed have said, *”That wasnt me.”*

He saw how hard she fought, how she cried at night thinking he slept. He understood nowno punishment was worse than knowing your end date.

She died two months later. He lined the path from their house to the cemetery with flowers. Sobbed like a child as they lowered the coffin. Aged overnight.

At home, under her pillow, he found a notea New Years wish shed written: *”Be happy with him till the end of my days.”* They say wishes made at New Years come true. Maybe its rightbecause that same year, he wrote one too: *”To be free.”*

Everyone got what they truly wantedas if it had all been arranged by their own desires.