My Husband Chose His Mistress

The day our son died, Princeton was at the airport, picking up the love of his life as she returned from abroad. Meanwhile, I was at the hospital, fighting late-stage brain cancer, inching closer to death. The unyielding pain of my condition was relentless, yet at that very moment, Princeton was out to dinner with her.

In these last few months of my life, I continued to act as his devoted and gentle wife, watching him leave early and return late each day, always in a hurry to be with someone else. It wasn't until after I was gone that he finally read the journal I had left for him, and he completely broke down.

At the funeral, Princeton never appeared. Our lively little boy had been reduced to a handful of ash, buried deep in the cold, damp earth. The guests, mainly attending out of obligation to the Foster family's name, paid little attention to me, whispering among themselves.

"At such an important event, where is Princeton? I thought he cared about his family."

"Oh, please. A wife who married into the family and an adopted child? As soon as Zuri came back, he rushed straight to the airport to fetch her."

"If Zuri hadn't left the country back then, Tiana wouldn't be in the picture. Now that she's returned, I'm sure Princeton will change course."

Their mockery cut through me like a dull blade, leaving a lingering sting. In that moment, I felt like a fool, constantly reminded that I was never the one Princeton truly loved. I could never replace Zuri in his heart.

I carefully wiped Skyla's gravestone, whispering to her not to be afraid, assuring her that I would soon join her. The tumor in my brain made it clear that my time was running out.

Pounding headaches blurred my vision as memories surfaced, finally settling on Princeton's indifferent face. After Zuri left the country, his family pressured him to marry, which is how he ended up with me—a convenient match, not one born of love. I was compliant and gentle, and that was enough.

For three years, I took meticulous care of him, slowly melting the ice around his heart. We finally began to behave like a normal couple, sharing meals, taking Skyla for walks in the park. But all of it was an illusion, a cruel joke played by fate.

Yesterday, my brain tumor flared up, and I collapsed. Skyla ran outside to find her father, hoping he would save me, but she was struck by a speeding car. I had thought about telling Princeton about the tumor, but instead received a text from an unknown number: "Princeton will come back to me." Attached was a photograph of him driving, his expression relaxed and carefree. The sight of his joyful smile pierced my heart like a dagger.

When I needed him the most, my husband was with another woman.