“For Pete's sake, it’s already midnight! What else do you want to say?”
“Why are you being so dramatic?”
Back then, she would settle into my arms and murmur, “Oliver, my love, we’ve been together forever. Whatever issues come up, we need to talk them through and work them out. We can’t keep things bottled up. No matter how late it gets, I promise I’m always here to listen.”
But everything had been turned upside down.
What she said back then felt like sand slipping through my fingers.
It dawned on me that Celeste’s affection for children was so intense since we, as a couple, couldn’t have our own and had thrown herself into someone else’s child.
Despite all our efforts for years, we still couldn’t have a child.
As I was confused, Celeste and I went to the hospital for tests. But when the results came back clean, with nothing wrong on either side, I was left at a loss, scratching my head in disbelief.
If everything was fine, then why couldn't Celeste get pregnant?
While searching for answers, I stumbled upon contraceptive pills in the trash can, and suddenly, everything made sense.
Taken aback, I was hit by the realization of the truth.
She valued her first love’s child more than the thought of us having one of our own, secretly taking the pills without me knowing.
I was only her husband, which meant nothing but a substitute.
Only if that transpired back then, I knew I would have spent nights in tears, drowning in pain and wondering if all my sacrifices didn't mean anything to her.
But then again, I had cancer. The doctor once revealed I had three months left and didn't have much time to lament.
As the days went by, I went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor had advised me to call a family member to update them on my condition.
My wife, Celeste, was the only one I had, so I called her, but she didn’t answer despite my repeated attempts.
I kept calling, and on the seventh attempt, she finally answered. Relief washed over me, but it quickly faded upon hearing her cold response.
“What is it? If you have something to say, make it quick,” she snapped, her words sharp and impatient.
My smile faded, but I still said, "Celeste, I’m sick. I have stomach cancer..."