CHAPTER 1 — THE WOMAN I THOUGHT I HAD LEFT BEHIND
The moment I recognized her sitting alone beneath the cold fluorescent lights, every excuse I had ever made for leaving her collapsed inside me.
She looked impossibly small.
A faded hospital gown hung loosely from her shoulders. An IV bag swayed beside her chair. Her once waist-length black hair—hair I used to brush away from her face every morning—had been cut short, uneven, as though someone had cared more about saving her life than preserving her dignity.
For several seconds I simply stood there.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
"Maya..."
She slowly lifted her head.
Those familiar brown eyes found mine.
For a heartbeat they filled with surprise.
Then something even more painful appeared.
Acceptance.
Not happiness.
Not anger.
Acceptance.
The kind that belongs to someone who has already lost everything worth fighting for.
"Arjun..."
My own name sounded unfamiliar coming from her lips.
"What happened to you?"
She forced the tiniest smile.
"I'm okay."
It was the weakest lie I had ever heard.
No one who was okay looked like she did.
No one who was okay needed chemotherapy ports beneath their collarbone.
No one who was okay had nurses quietly watching them from the hallway with expressions full of pity.
I sat beside her before she could stop me.
Her fingers were freezing.
So light that I could hardly feel them in my hand.
"Maya...tell me."
She stared ahead.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Why?"
"Because we already said goodbye."
Those words hit harder than I expected.
She wasn't blaming me.
She was protecting me.
That somehow hurt even more.
The silence between us stretched until footsteps interrupted it.
A middle-aged doctor approached carrying a thick medical file.
He stopped the instant he noticed me.
"You must be Mr. Arjun."
I frowned.
"...You know me?"
The doctor hesitated.
Maya immediately stood up.
"No."
Her voice suddenly carried urgency.
"Doctor...please."
But he had already opened the file.
"I've been trying to reach you for weeks."
I stared at him.
"There must be some mistake."
"There isn't."
He looked directly into my eyes.
"You were listed as her emergency contact."
My heart skipped.
"I..."
"I thought she removed my name after the divorce."
The doctor's expression changed.
"She refused."
Maya closed her eyes.
Tears silently rolled down her cheeks.
"Please..."
"Don't."
But the doctor gently continued.
"Mr. Arjun..."
"Your ex-wife has Stage Four Acute Myeloid Leukemia."
The hallway disappeared.
The voices disappeared.
Everything became silent except one sentence echoing inside my skull.
Stage Four.
Leukemia.
Impossible.
No.
This had to be wrong.
Maya wasn't sick.
She had only been tired.
Quiet.
Sad.
I remembered every evening I complained because dinner was late.
Every weekend I accused her of being emotionally distant.
Every argument where I thought she simply didn't love me anymore.
She hadn't been pulling away.
She had been dying.
The doctor handed me several scans.
Blood reports.
Bone marrow results.
Dates.
Months of appointments.
Months.
Long before we divorced.
I looked at Maya.
"You knew?"
She nodded.
"How long?"
"Eight months."
My knees nearly gave out.
"You knew..."
"...and you never told me?"
She whispered something so softly I barely heard it.
"You already carried enough pain."
I shook my head violently.
"No."
"No."
"No."
"You should have told me."
She smiled through tears.
"I tried."
"You were always working."
"I didn't want my illness to become another burden you had to carry."
The guilt hit me like a freight train.
Every overtime shift.
Every ignored phone call.
Every canceled dinner.
She hadn't wanted attention.
She had simply wanted me.
And I had been too busy convincing myself that work mattered more than love.
May you like
That afternoon became the first day I truly understood what regret felt like.
And it was only the beginning.
