When His Love Is Too Late, My Love Has Gone

Murphy still coldly refused and even the young nurse couldn't bear it and slammed the pen down hard on the marble table.

The dean frowned and stood at the door, glancing at the unsigned surgery confirmation form. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward and signed his name. The red words on the operating room monitor lit up, confirming that the surgery could proceed.

I watched this farce with a cold detachment. My heart was remarkably calm despite the gravity of the situation. My life and death hung in the balance, yet Murphy, my legally recognized husband, refused to take responsibility for my surgery. The depth of his disdain for me was a revelation I had never anticipated. It was beyond anything I had imagined. Even a stranger would show more concern in the face of life and death.

The operation stretched on for more than three hours, ending with a straight line on the heart rate monitor—a sign that my life had ebbed away. The dean himself had performed the surgery, but despite his best efforts, he was unable to save me. At the age of thirty-three, my time in this world was abruptly cut short.

"Can I leave?" Murphy asked, his voice devoid of emotion as he looked at my lifeless body covered with a white sheet.

The nurse beside him offered no response, her face a mask of professional detachment that barely masked her own sorrow.

Murphy let out a disdainful snort and strode out of the hospital, his long legs carrying him away from the scene with a determined, almost impatient stride.

I had no family, no one to take care of my final arrangements. My husband, who had so callously abandoned me, was certainly not going to handle these responsibilities. It was a grim reality I had accepted, though I had hoped—perhaps vainly—that he might show some compassion.

Seeing Murphy walk away from the hospital felt like an invisible torment, an emotional torture that I wished I had never had to endure. I would have been better off not knowing him at all. But it was too late for such regrets now.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself transported from the sterile confines of the hospital to the opulent top floor of the most luxurious hotel in the capital. It was as if time had jumped forward and I was forced to witness the contrast between my demise and Murphy’s continuing life.

The scene before me was a stark reminder of what I had lost. Brianna was dressed in an eye-catching gown, a striking vision of elegance and allure. Men around her cast lingering glances, captivated by her presence. She seemed to bask in the attention, her demeanor that of a proud little peacock indifferent to the gazes that followed her.

"Murphy, why are you so late? I thought you had forgotten our date," Brianna said, her voice tinged with playful reproach.