Chapter 2
The stomach bleeding today wasn’t a fluke. A week ago, I had been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, with only three months left to live.
That scene was still fresh in my memory. It was our third wedding anniversary, and I sat alone in the hospital hallway.
Sweat soaked through the diagnosis report in my trembling hands. My legs felt like lead; I tried to stand several times but failed.
My frayed nerves finally snapped after I called Benedict for the tenth time.
“Kendra! Are you insane? Just because you have nothing better to do doesn’t mean others aren’t busy!” he roared.
He wasn’t wrong. I was very sick, and it was indeed driving me insane.
Before I could respond, a woman’s honeyed voice floated through the phone, turning my unsaid words into a lump in my throat.
“Benedict! I knew you’d come! You missed me, didn’t you?”
I heard Benedict’s low chuckle before the call was abruptly cut off.
It wasn’t the first time.
The first time he stood me up was to pick up Tylor when she returned to the country.
The first time he hit me was because Tylor had damaged my piano.
At first, I was shocked, but gradually, I stopped caring.
The searing pain I once felt dulled into a faint ache.
I made excuses for him over and over again, convincing myself it was all because Tylor was his cousin, and he had no other choice.
But eventually, I had to face the truth–he wasn’t powerless and chose this willingly.
To Benedict, I was nothing more than a distraction when Tylor wasn’t around, a pastime he could step on. My dignity and love were crushed beneath his feet.
So, I decided he would taste the bitterness of unrequited love. I would make him fall for me and be haunted by me.
If he refused to care about me now, I would make myself a thorn in his heart.
While I was alive, I would be a constant, nagging pain. After my death, I would leave him utterly broken.
I recorded three videos, preparing to leave Benedict a gift he would never forget.
