I Died The Day He Won The Championship

The International Chess Championship ran from November through the end of December.

On the day I signed the euthanasia consent form, the television was broadcasting a live charity event Julian was attending.

He was the guest of honor at the "Chess in Education Fund" gala, the most celebrated North American chess player.

The host was asking him about the upcoming tournament.

"Julian, do you think you can win the championship?"

Just as Julian was about to push the microphone away, a woman beside him elegantly took over the conversation.

It was Julian's protégé, Chloe.

She was highly respected in the international chess community.

The media called her the "Queen of Chess," and she and Julian were widely seen as the golden couple.

"Let me answer that."

There were very few people Julian trusted enough to let them take the lead.

Chloe was definitely one of them.

Julian looked at her gratefully as she handled the media.

"Julian never discusses tournament pressure in public," Chloe said, her hand gently stroking his arm.

The faint dimples on her cheeks were captivating.

If I had interrupted like that, Julian would have shut me down on the spot.

But the man on the screen simply nodded in agreement, a soft look on his face, and whispered, "Thank you."

I don't remember much of the charity auction that followed.

I only remember that at the end, the host asked Julian a very personal question.

"Life is full of difficult choices. I'm curious, has our grandmaster ever faced a truly difficult one himself?"

Chloe stood by his side, waiting for him. Julian kept glancing over at her.

His gaze was deep and focused.

The venue was noisy, and I could barely hear his final answer.

I only caught a fragment of it. "Sometimes you have to make choices you don't want to, for reasons beyond your control."

I hated myself for hearing that sentence.

I was already dying, yet I still cared about all this nonsense related to Julian.

After ten years by his side, every little thing about him still tore me apart inside.

He was as impossible for me to figure out as his chess games.

The truth is, I've been insecure ever since I met Julian as a teenager.

My love was too intense, and I expected him to love me just as fiercely in return.

But Julian was like a block of ice that could never be warmed.

The worst part was, I was willing to drown in his coldness.

Once, I pestered him endlessly to take me to an after-party on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

It was in that high-end bar that I first met Chloe.

A group of young elites, whiskey and champagne, made for a lively atmosphere.

Those kinds of people loved to tell the truth under the influence of alcohol.

A guy who had just earned his master title held up a martini glass and challenged him.

"Julian, buddy, you really don't feel anything for that blonde bombshell?"

"Your girlfriend is right here. Perfect chance for her to hear what's on your mind."

"Come on, give us an honest answer."

Julian had had too much tequila, and the pupils behind his glasses were dilated from the alcohol.

He slowly turned to me, his voice hoarse with intoxication.

"Thoughts? On her?" he smirked, "I don't need to explain anything to her. She knows that as long as she's around, I can focus on chess."

My heart, which had been in my throat, finally settled.

Later, I drove Julian back to the apartment.

I watched him rush straight to the study and frantically search through all the unsolved puzzles in chess history.

He locked himself in there for two days, not eating or drinking, and only recovered his strength after an intravenous glucose drip.

His face was as pale as paper. He said to me weakly, "Ava, I can't solve it."

"These puzzles… they represent centuries of chess genius that my family expects me to surpass. Each one I solve brings me closer to their approval, but the ones I can't… they haunt me."

I understood what he meant.

But I was twenty-two that year, still at an age where I naively believed he truly loved me.

I said, "It's okay, Julian."

"I'm not pressuring you, and I don't want you to pressure yourself."

"Clichéd promises don't matter. It's enough that you know I love you."

He nodded but didn't look at me.

From then on, we both had a tacit understanding never to bring up the subject again.

I watched Julian's career soar on the international stage, rising from Master to Grandmaster.

Every time he brought home a major award, he would say to me, "Ava, I'm one step closer to completing my career goals."

"Once I've won the Grand Slam, I'll give you everything you want."

"Just be patient."

So later, whenever someone jokingly asked when Julian and I were getting married, I would calmly reply, "We'll talk about it after his tournaments are over."

But this time, with the live news coverage report, I didn't expect there to be a segment about me.

Julian and Chloe had just left the training center when they were stopped by a reporter.

The reporter started a live stream on his phone.

In the shot, Julian tried to leave quickly. Chloe gently touched his arm, signaling for him to maintain his public image.

"Julian! Can we talk for a minute? About something other than the upcoming tournament."

"The fans are very concerned about your personal life."

The reporter pressed on. "How is your girlfriend, Ava, doing lately?"

Julian, holding a freshly ordered black coffee, frowned slightly, as if thinking about something.

Then he said in a low voice, "She's been a lot quieter lately."

"Maybe the pressure is getting to her."

Since my diagnosis, I spoke less and less, my energy fading.

If he truly cared, he would have noticed the deep hollows under my eyes.

But it wasn't pressure. It was because I was dying.