Too Late My Ex-Wife’s Regret After My Death

On our wedding anniversary, fate struck hard; I was diagnosed with stomach cancer.

Amid my own fight for life, my wife was focused on caring for her first love's child.

In a moment of desperation, I called her and said I felt like I was dying, asking if she could come.

She cut me off, her voice cold. “Oliver, stop being so dramatic! I’m tutoring Conan. If you’re going to die, just do it quietly and don’t bother me!”

Overwhelmed by despair, I came back home, calm and composed.

Right there and then, I laid eyes on my cherished wife and her first love sitting comfortably on the sofa, seeming like a lovely couple.

The moment they glimpsed me, they were taken aback and quickly turned to the middle-aged woman beside them, saying, “Oh, teacher, don’t get the wrong idea. He’s just the child's uncle, not what you might think.”

She shot me a chilling glance as if to say I should just disappear if I was going to be such a burden.

And, as if by her wish, I did indeed die. But rather than being relieved, she was consumed by madness.

…

Through thick and thin, Celeste Morgan stood by me—from our college days to the moment we exchanged vows, becoming my wife.

We promised to stay true to each other, to grow old together, and to always have each other's back.

However, as her first love came into the picture, those promises began to crumble. Her feelings for me gradually faded, and the bond we once cherished seemed to slip away.

My wife, who once meant everything to me, slowly drifted from my thoughts.

When her first love came back from abroad with a child, out of nowhere, Celeste became the child's tutor, with her attention solely focused on them.

From that moment on, she seemed to have forgotten me as her husband, leaving me neglected and adrift.

She frequently stayed late after work, dedicating her evenings to tutoring her first love’s child and returning home around midnight. She was determined to make the child the top student in class.

Her devotion to the child pushed me to the sidelines, making me feel like I had vanished from her life.

The moment Celeste, with her first love and the child, were together, they seemed to become their own family.

Whenever I pressed her for answers, she would respond with a cold dismissal, “Look, Oliver, I'm too tired. Can you not bother me?”

“For Pete's sake, it’s already midnight! What else do you want to say?”

“Why are you being so dramatic?”

Back then, she would settle into my arms and murmur, “Oliver, my love, we’ve been together forever. Whatever issues come up, we need to talk them through and work them out. We can’t keep things bottled up. No matter how late it gets, I promise I’m always here to listen.”

But everything had been turned upside down.

What she said back then felt like sand slipping through my fingers.

It dawned on me that Celeste’s affection for children was so intense since we, as a couple, couldn’t have our own and had thrown herself into someone else’s child.

Despite all our efforts for years, we still couldn’t have a child.

As I was confused, Celeste and I went to the hospital for tests. But when the results came back clean, with nothing wrong on either side, I was left at a loss, scratching my head in disbelief.

If everything was fine, then why couldn't Celeste get pregnant?

While searching for answers, I stumbled upon contraceptive pills in the trash can, and suddenly, everything made sense.

Taken aback, I was hit by the realization of the truth.

She valued her first love’s child more than the thought of us having one of our own, secretly taking the pills without me knowing.

I was only her husband, which meant nothing but a substitute.

Only if that transpired back then, I knew I would have spent nights in tears, drowning in pain and wondering if all my sacrifices didn't mean anything to her.

But then again, I had cancer. The doctor once revealed I had three months left and didn't have much time to lament.

As the days went by, I went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor had advised me to call a family member to update them on my condition.

My wife, Celeste, was the only one I had, so I called her, but she didn’t answer despite my repeated attempts.

I kept calling, and on the seventh attempt, she finally answered. Relief washed over me, but it quickly faded upon hearing her cold response.

“What is it? If you have something to say, make it quick,” she snapped, her words sharp and impatient.

My smile faded, but I still said, "Celeste, I’m sick. I have stomach cancer..."

Before I could say anything more, she cut me off, her voice filled with anger. "Can you stop pretending just to get sympathy? Seriously, you're pulling these childish tricks like I'm going to fall for them!" She sighed and was frustrated. "You know how important this is for Conan—he's trying to get into a top prestigious school. I can’t just leave him for this."

Her voice grew colder. "If you put as much effort into working as you do into lying, maybe you wouldn’t still be stuck in that same small job after all these years."