I was dying when my husband cheated for the 100th time

The numbers above the elevator doors blinked as I ascended to the fiftieth floor.

I held a velvet bakery box in my left hand. In my right, my leather tote bag felt unusually heavy. It held a single sheet of paper from Dr. Evans.

*Terminal.*

The word echoed in my skull. Six months. Maybe less if the chemo failed.

I didn't go home. I didn't collapse on my living room floor and weep. I had spent the last five years crying over a man who never wiped away a single tear. I didn't have the energy to waste my remaining days weeping.

Today was Jacob's thirty-second birthday.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal the sprawling executive suite of Walsh Enterprises.

"Mrs. Walsh!" The receptionist, a frantic woman named Sarah, jumped up from her desk. "Mr. Walsh asked not to be disturbed. He has a very important client in his private lounge."

"I know," I said.

"Please, let me buzz him first." Sarah reached for her phone.

"Don't bother. I'm bringing him his cake."

I walked past her desk. She didn't dare physically stop the CEO's wife.

The heavy oak door to Jacob's office stood slightly ajar.

I didn't knock. I pushed it open and crossed the expansive room toward the frosted glass door of the private lounge.

Faint sounds bled through the glass. A high-pitched giggle. A low, familiar groan.

My hand found the silver handle. I pushed it down.

"Jacob, wait," a sickly sweet voice whined. "What if your wife shows up?"

"Giselle?" Jacob laughed. It was the same arrogant, dismissive sound I had heard a thousand times. "She wouldn't dare interrupt me at work. Besides, she knows her place."

I stepped into the room.

They were tangled on the leather sofa. A blonde girl—maybe twenty, skin flawless—straddled my husband.

Affair number one hundred.

I stood in the doorway.

Jacob glanced over. Annoyance flashed across his handsome face before settling into bored indifference. He didn't even push the girl off his lap.

"You forgot to knock," he said.

"The door was unlocked," I replied. My voice sounded entirely foreign to my own ears. Flat. Hollow.

The girl squealed, snatching a discarded silk shirt to cover her chest. She glared at me, her eyes darting over my plain beige trench coat and pale, makeup-free face.

In the past, this exact scenario would have shattered my world.

The first time I caught him, I threw a heavy crystal vase at his head. The twentieth time, I sobbed on my knees, clinging to his pant leg, begging him to love me again. By the fiftieth, I had taken a razor to my own wrist in our master bathroom, threatening to end it all if he didn't stop cheating.

He never stopped. And I always forgave him.

But today, looking at his bare chest and the smug curve of his lips, my chest felt completely empty. The frantic desperation was gone.

"Are you going to throw another tantrum?" Jacob asked. He leaned back against the armrest, completely unbothered. "Because it's my birthday, and I really don't have the patience for your tears today."

I walked forward.

The blonde shrank back slightly. Jacob patted her hip, a silent command to stay put.

I stopped at the edge of the glass coffee table. I placed the bakery box down. The cardboard scraped against the glass.

"I brought you a cake," I said.

Jacob frowned. His dark eyebrows pulled together. He studied my face, searching for the hysteria he was so used to managing.

"Where is the screaming, Giselle?" he demanded. "Where are the threats? Are you going to run to the kitchen and grab a knife to slice your wrists again?"

"No."

"Then what game is this?"

"No game." I looked him straight in the eyes. "Jacob, you don't have to choose this time."

"Choose what?"

"Between me and whoever she is." I gestured toward the girl. "I'm leaving you first. I don't want you anymore."

Silence stretched across the room.

Jacob stared at me. His jaw tightened, then relaxed. A nervous, mocking chuckle escaped his throat.

"Right," he scoffed. "You're leaving me. Just like you did last month? You made it to the hotel down the street before calling me in tears."

"This time is different," I said.

"Sure it is." He crossed his arms. The confident facade remained, but a muscle ticked in his cheek. My calmness was unnerving him. He hated when I didn't play my part. He needed my desperation to feed his ego.

"You're overreacting, as usual," Jacob continued. "Go home. We'll talk about this tonight after my dinner meeting."

The blonde girl sensed his shifting mood. She sat up straighter, jutting her chin out.

"You should just sign the divorce papers and get it over with," she sneered. "Look at you. You're old. You're boring. Jacob needs someone young and vibrant by his side."

I shifted my gaze to her.

She puffed out her chest, waiting for a fight.

"He bought me a diamond tennis bracelet yesterday," the girl bragged, flashing her wrist. "What did he buy you? A grocery store cake? I'm going to be the next Mrs. Walsh anyway. You're just taking up space. He doesn't love you. He hasn't loved you in years."

I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice.

"Take him," I told her. "He's all yours."

"Excuse me?" she snapped.

"I said, you can have him." I turned my attention back to Jacob. "I'll have my lawyer send the paperwork to your office tomorrow morning. Don't bother coming back to the house. Your bags will be on the porch."

Jacob stood up. He shoved the girl off his lap. She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the sofa.

"Giselle, stop this nonsense right now," he ordered. His voice dropped an octave, a command he expected me to obey instantly. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"For the first time in my life, Jacob, I have never felt less embarrassed."

I turned on my heel.

"Giselle! Come back here!" Jacob shouted.

I ignored him. I adjusted the strap of my oversized leather tote bag on my shoulder. As I did, the metal clasp snagged on my coat and popped open.

A few items spilled out onto the plush carpet. A tube of lipstick. A pack of mints. And the folded white paper from the hospital.

I crouched down, grabbed the lipstick and the mints, and shoved them back inside. I missed the paper. My fingers were trembling—not from sadness, but from the bone-deep exhaustion of the disease eating away at my insides.

"I said, stop walking away from me!" Jacob barked.

I stood up and continued toward the door.

"You'll be back by dinner!" he yelled at my back. "You always come back!"

I stepped out into the main office, my foot catching the edge of the doorstop. The heavy oak door remained