Too Late for the Love I Deserved

Greyson stayed with Emily after her IV treatment and drove her home.

She clung to his arm, reluctant to let him go, and he showed no hurry to leave.

"Greyson," she said, her voice fragile, "I've been so low lately. When I'm feeling better, can we take a trip somewhere?"

"Of course," he agreed readily.

Emily's family had fallen on hard times after her father's business collapsed, turning her from a pampered heiress to a struggling nobody.

Greyson understood her pain, especially as she complained of constant aches. He wanted to be her protector.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked. "Name the place, and I'll make it happen. I can take care of you now."

Emily's eyes sparkled. "Thank you. You're so nice."

I watched them, a bitter smile on my lips.

Greyson had always been too busy for me. We never took a honeymoon, and in five years of marriage, he rarely spared time for a simple date.

I never complained, playing the dutiful wife and managing his every need. His ignoring was all I received.

I tried to rekindle his affection with new makeup or stylish clothes, but it was futile. The moment Emily appeared, I vanished from his world.

Whenever he chose her over me, I'd argue with him. He'd respond with silence or call me childish.

Alive, I couldn't change it. Now, hovering between life and death, I was still powerless.

Greyson stayed at her place for the night. They didn't share a bed, but their growing closeness was undeniable.

The next day, I followed him to the office.

Instead of focusing on his demanding job, he was on the phone, booking first-class flights and luxury hotels for a trip with Emily. He had no idea I was fighting for my life. It was as if I didn't even exist.

While my mother sat by my bedside, weeping, Greyson was living a dream with another woman. They visited trendy cities, savored local cuisines, and snapped beautiful photos.

He kept things proper, booking separate rooms. He treated her like a delicate treasure. Emily radiated joy, but I felt no more jealousy.

I knew their happiness wouldn't last. Greyson never valued what he had. He didn't know how to hold onto joy.

A month later, their adventure ended.

Greyson returned home, weary. He opened the door to a grim scene: rotting food on the table and a dark stain on the floor.

The stench hit him, and his face twisted in disgust. He grabbed his phone and dialed my number. My phone, dead on the couch, didn't answer.

He called again and again. By the fourth try, he shouted into my voicemail. "If you want a divorce, just say so. Stop these stupid games. This place is a wreck. Come back, and we'll end this now."