Her Sacrifice for His Love

The morning light filtered through our bedroom curtains, casting a pale glow across the room. I winced as I opened my eyes, the familiar ache in my chest intensifying with each breath. Today was my birthday—my last birthday.

I pressed my palm against my sternum, feeling the irregular flutter beneath my skin. Three years left. No, less than that now.

"Jackson?" I whispered into the empty space beside me.

He hadn't come home again last night.

I dragged myself upright, swallowing against the metallic taste in my mouth. The room spun slightly as I stood, but I steadied myself against the dresser. This was going to be a bad day. I could feel it in the way my lungs refused to fully expand, in the weight that had settled deep in my bones.

In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. Pale skin, hollow cheeks, eyes too large for my face. I looked like I was already half-dead.

"Twenty-eight," I whispered to the mirror. "The last time I'll see this day."

I forced a smile, trying to remember what it felt like to genuinely feel that expression. It had been so long since something had made me truly happy.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I moved mechanically through the familiar motions. Jackson's favorite breakfast—crispy bacon, perfectly golden eggs, toast with just the right amount of butter. I arranged the food carefully on his plate, placing a small vase of daisies—his favorite—in the center of the table. I lit two candles, their tiny flames dancing in the morning light.

"Make a wish," I murmured to myself, though I wasn't sure what I would wish for anymore.

The urge to cough hit suddenly, violently. I clamped my hand over my mouth and stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it before my body betrayed me. Blood splattered the white porcelain, bright and accusing.

"No, no, no," I gasped, grabbing the bleach from under the sink. I scrubbed frantically at the evidence, watching as the blood dissolved into pink streaks that eventually disappeared down the drain.

My hands trembled as I cleaned. Jackson couldn't know. He couldn't see me like this.

When I returned to the dining room, I was pale but composed, a smile fixed on my face that didn't reach my eyes.

"Morning," Jackson said, appearing in the doorway. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was already scrolling through his phone.

"Happy birthday, Phoebe." He glanced up briefly, his smile not quite meeting his eyes.

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my heart clenched at his distracted greeting. "I made your favorite."

"Thanks." He sat down but kept his phone in his hand, thumbs typing rapidly.

The silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft ping of notifications from his device.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I asked softly.

"Sorry, can't." He stood abruptly, pocketing his phone. "Megan's having some complications. I need to take her to her prenatal appointment."

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "Today? But it's my birthday."

Jackson's expression flickered with guilt, but it was quickly replaced by determination. "I know, and I'm sorry. But this is critical, Phoebe. The baby—"

"The baby that might not even be yours?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His jaw tightened. "That's not fair. I have to do the right thing here."

I looked down at the carefully prepared breakfast, now growing cold. "Just stay for ten minutes. Just eat with me."

"I can't." He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Megan needs me."

He pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it on the table. The wrapping was hasty, the ribbon slightly askew. "Happy birthday. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

A kiss on my forehead, so brief I barely felt it, and then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence.

I sat alone at the table set for two, staring at the food I'd prepared with such care.

The pain in my chest intensified, spreading through my limbs like ice water. I tried to stand but my legs gave way beneath me.

"No," I whispered as I collapsed onto the kitchen floor. "Not yet."

But my body had other plans. The coughing started again, more violent this time. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and sticky against the cold tiles.

As my vision blurred, my phone lit up on the table above me. Through wavering eyes, I saw the notification:

"Jackson Burke @JacksonB24: Priorities. #blessed #familyfirst"

The image showed his hand wrapped around Megan's, both of them smiling in a sterile hospital room.

My hand dropped to the floor, and darkness rushed in from all sides.

My last thought before consciousness slipped away was that no one would find me until it was too late. And maybe that was better than being found at all.