When I Die, I'll Donate My Heart to My Wife's First Love

3

I had forfeited my chance, so the System began to accelerate the erasure process.

The moment I woke up the next morning, I felt a gnawing discomfort in my abdomen.

The System chimed in, its tone dispassionate as always, "It's just early-stage stomach cancer. If treated promptly, you'll be just fine."

"If Ariana wavers even slightly in her obsession with Marvin, that car accident won't occur."

I realized the System was offering me an escape route.

But I was prepared to disappoint it.

Only by letting everything unfold as it was meant to would Ariana feel the full weight of her pain.

The pain in my stomach intensified, and soon, I broke into a cold sweat before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Time passed—how long, I couldn't say—until I was jolted awake by the shrill ring of my phone.

Rubbing my eyes, I noticed a few missed calls from Ariana.

Just as I was about to dial her back, I heard the sound of a keypad being tapped at the front door.

She walked in, dragging a massive suitcase behind her.

Seeing me lying on the sofa, she was annoyed.

"Arthur, didn't we agree to finalize our divorce today? What's taking you so long?"

I blinked at her, suddenly remembering that we'd planned to finalize the divorce.

Her annoyance grew as she noticed my dazed expression.

"Come on! Get a move on! What are you waiting for?"

I pressed my hand against my abdomen, feeling pale and clammy.

"Ariana, I'm not feeling too well today. Can we push this until tomorrow? It's not like this is some race."

I used to be in good health, so I'd never imagined stomach cancer could be this debilitating.

A memory flickered through my mind—my father passing away from late-stage stomach cancer.

He'd hidden his pain from me, not wanting to burden me with his suffering.

It hit me how much agony he'd endured without a word.

But my uncertainty only seemed to fuel Ariana's impatience.

"Arthur, if you're looking for excuses, at least make them more convincing. Quit stalling! Hurry up and get ready. I'll just pack my things while I'm at it."

Before I knew it, she was shoving me toward the bathroom.

She genuinely seemed eager to wrap things up.

Trying to steady myself for the day ahead, I reached for a painkiller from the medicine cabinet.

Maybe it would relieve some of the discomfort.

On my way to the kitchen to grab some water, I caught sight of Ariana's open suitcase, and my heart sank.

Among her clothes, a few packages lay unopened, all addressed to her. My eyes narrowed, and I could hardly believe what I saw is a lacy black nightie, sultry and scandalous.

Ariana had never worn anything like that around me in our years together.

Back then, I'd teased her for being so conservative.

Ariana'd said with a dismissive wave, "You know me, I'm not the risqué type."

I thought, "So who exactly is she planning to impress with that little outfit? Marvin?"

Emerging from the bedroom, she clutched an armful of her clothes, her gaze catching mine as I stared at the suitcase in shock.

She quickly followed my line of sight, panic flashing across her face.

She hurried to cover the package with her garments, then zipped the suitcase shut, looking a mix of flustered and defensive.

"Oh, um, I bought that for you—intended to wear it for you, actually. But it ended up stuck in my car's backseat, and I totally forgot about it."

Her eyes darted away, betraying her unease as she fumbled through her explanation.

Ariana seemed to forget that I'd previously complimented how lovely she looked in white lace—and how black lace wasn't really her style.

Besides, I had also made it clear that I didn't like that tacky style.

If she had genuinely bought it for me, why in the world would she choose something I didn't even like?

Her justifications felt like a flimsy veil over a truth she didn't want to confront.

Deep down, even she had to realize how absurd this all was.