My Last Wish

When it came to money, my so-called parents had never held back on me. But to them, I was nothing more than a painful reminder of their failed marriage—something neither of them wanted to look at.

The Jordans, though? They were a ray of sunlight cutting through the storm. They treated me like family. I knew they were good people, and I also knew they pitied me.

And now? Now, I had their son wrapped around my finger.

Did I feel guilty?

Not even a little.

If he did not want this, there was no way I could have made it happen. But this was just me lying to myself.

Yannick locked himself in the guest room the whole day and did not come out until nighttime. I sat at the dinner table, staring at the untouched food. I was not hungry.

I knocked on his door. "Dinner is ready."

To my surprise, he opened the door and walked out like nothing had happened. He sat down in silence, and his whole vibe screamed, "Don’t even think about talking to me."

I did not care, though. I pulled out a handful of condoms with a blank face. "Pick one."

Yannick lost it. "You seriously can’t get enough of me?"

I nodded. "Maybe."

With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed a strawberry-flavored one and flopped onto the bed. Seeing him like this, a random line of poetry popped into my head.

"May you take as much as you please."

I put in the work, and soon, so did he. By the end, he bit my ear, his voice low and furious as he said, "Yulia! I swear to God, I’m going to kill you!"

I was too drained to respond. But in my heart, I thought that there was no need for him to do so. That day would come on its own.

…

For three days, Yannick was perfectly fine. Every morning, he handled work calls like a pro as he ran his company from afar. Every evening, he somehow found time to mess with me.

Meanwhile, I felt like absolute crap. So, I kicked him out.

Yannick leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Already sick of me?"

I did not even look at him. "Yeah."

With that, his door slammed shut.

…

On the fourth day, I crashed.

I was having a fever, nausea… The whole deal.

Yannick, realizing I had not made breakfast, stormed in—only to find me curled up in bed. "Yulia, what’s wrong?"

He pressed a hand to my forehead, frowning. "You have a fever."

I weakly shoved him away. "Go away."

Instead, he scooped me up. "You’re going to the hospital."

I clawed at the bedsheets. "No."

"Yulia! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Tears blurred my vision, and my mind was slipping. "If I walk out that door… You won't be coming back…"

His grip on my wrist tightened for a second, and his voice softened. "Relax. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

"I won’t go…"

…

When I woke up, I was still home. Yannick sat beside the bed, murmuring into his phone. From the sound of it, it was a work call.

An IV line ran from my arm. Seeing that, I knew he must have called his private doctor. I was relieved. As long as I was here, he would not find out anything.

But I also knew… it was time to let him go.

Yannick always kept his promises, but I never really had him. What I had was his patience.

He looked exhausted due to the constant work calls and emails. The shadows under his eyes were getting darker as well.

Noticing I was awake, he quickly hung up the phone.

"You’re up?"

"Yeah. How long was I out?"

"A whole day. But at least your fever’s gone."

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