I never imagined that a random encounter in a hospital would completely change my life. A simple conversation, a shared laugh, an undeniable connection—everything felt effortless, like it was meant to be. What started as a fleeting moment turned into something deep and meaningful. But just when happiness seemed within reach, a shocking truth shattered my world.
I had always been content on my own, never actively searching for love. But then I met Paul. From the moment our eyes met, I felt it—something electric, something real. His warmth, his laughter… I fell for him instantly. We connected effortlessly, and before long, we were inseparable. I was happier than I had ever been! We spent hours dreaming of our future—marriage, children, and a lifetime together.
Then came the day that changed everything. I sent Paul a message, just like always, but there was no response. I tried again. Still nothing. My heart pounded as panic set in. Had something happened to him? Had I done something wrong? Hours passed before his name finally appeared on my screen. But instead of relief, his message left me breathless.
@Paul
I’m okay. But I need you to STOP CALLING AND TEXTING. THIS IS OVER.
@Me
Can you at least tell me why?
@Paul
I never loved you. I lied. I don’t want you in my life.
The words struck me like a blow to the gut. I dialed his number again. Straight to voicemail. I tried once more. Blocked.
I couldn’t just leave it like that—I had to see him. When the door finally opened, my heart splintered into pieces.
His skin was ghostly pale, his face sunken. It was Paul. My Paul.
“What happened to you? I’m not walking away! I deserve to know the truth!” My voice wavered.
With a weary sigh, he sank onto the couch. “I have cancer. I’m dying.”
My throat tightened. “How could you hide this from me? That’s so unfair!”
Paul dragged a hand over his thinning hair. “The doctors were hopeful at first. I really thought I had a chance. But things got worse. I didn’t want you to relive this pain, so I forced you away.”
“How much time?” I whispered, my hands trembling.
“A week. Maybe less. I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I love you, Linda.”
Tears blurred my vision. “You should’ve told me,” I choked out. “I should have been here.”
That night, he lay curled against me, calling himself a fool, saying that just being close to me made everything feel easier.
His voice was faint, his body fragile, yet he still tried to smile. I clung to him, whispering over and over, “I love you, Paul. I love you so much.”
His fingers barely wrapped around mine, his touch weak. His breathing slowed, growing softer, shallower. Then—nothing.
I heard his final breath. And with it, something inside me shattered. The room was eerily silent. Cold. I held him, refusing to let go.
