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– Divorce forms. I’ve filled everything out. You just need to sign.
Harley froze. Her lips parted, but her throat was raw from the procedure. Words failed her. Her eyes filled with disbelief and sorrow.
– Is this… some kind of sick joke?
– I’m serious. I told you already—I can’t keep living with someone weak and constantly ill. I’m tired of being the only one trying. I deserve to follow my real feelings.
Mark’s voice was unnervingly steady, like he was talking about switching insurance, not ending a decade-long marriage.
A faint smile crossed Harley’s lips, tears quietly slipping down her face.
– So… you waited until I couldn’t move or speak… to make me sign this?
Mark hesitated for a moment, then nodded:
Harley bit down gently. Her throat burned, but the real agony was in her chest. Still, she didn’t shout or sob. She just asked softly:
– Where’s the pen?
Mark gazed, taken aback. – You… you’re really going to sign?
– You said it yourself. It was just a matter of time.
He handed her the pen. Harley reached for it with unsteady fingers and slowly wrote her name.
– That’s it. I wish you peace.
— Thank you. I’ll return the agreed assets. Goodbye.
Mark turned and walked out. The door clicked shut—too gently. But not three minutes passed before it opened again.
Dr. John entered. Harley’s old college friend and the surgeon who operated on her. He carried her medical file and a bouquet of white roses.
