“The miscarriages,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the hospital’s ventilation system. “They weren’t just accidents, Arjun. My body wasn’t rejecting the babies because of stress or bad luck. It was a symptom.”

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a slow line down her hollow cheek.

“A month before we split up, I found a lump. I didn’t tell you because we were already fighting so much, and I didn’t want you to stay with me just out of pity. After I left, I went to a specialist. It’s advanced stage lymphoma. It had been hiding in my system for over a year, stealing everything from me. My energy, my ability to carry a child… you.”

The world didn’t just tilt; it completely shattered.The silence I had resented, the emotional distance I had blamed her for, the “exhaustion” I thought was just a lack of effort—it was her body fighting a war against itself. She hadn’t drifted away from me because she stopped loving me. She was dying in front of my eyes, and I had walked away because it was “easier” than paying attention.

“Why didn’t you call me, Maya?” I choked out, the tears finally breaking through my own defenses, hot and angry with self-reproach. “Eleven years—five years of marriage! You thought I’d just leave you to face this alone?”