I was dying when my husband cheated for the 100th time

"Get on the bike, Giselle."

"I have a fever, Jacob. I'll get you sick."

"That's exactly why I'm taking you home. Get on."

"Did you sneak cough syrup into my backpack again?"

"Maybe."

His teenage voice echoed in my head. I could still picture his face from that afternoon in high school. His ears had turned bright red, betraying his tough facade.

"Giselle, I'm only going to like you for the rest of my life."

The memory played on a loop as I pushed open the front door of our house. The hallway was completely dark.

I flipped the light switch. The crystal chandelier illuminated the grand foyer. We bought this place the day after our wedding. Walking through these doors as a young bride, I truly believed I had married my soulmate.

Instead, I had married a nightmare.

"I swear it was a mistake, Giselle! She meant nothing to me!"

"If you walk out that door, I'll end it, Jacob! I swear I'll cut my wrists!"

"Please, Jacob, don't go! I'll be better! I'll do whatever you want!"

The ghosts of my own pathetic begging haunted these walls. The first time he cheated, I cried and forgave him. The twentieth time, I held a razor to my skin. By the fiftieth time, I knelt in the freezing rain on this exact driveway, clutching his wet trousers.

He always came back.

Not because he loved me. He came back because my shattered dignity fed his ego. He needed my frantic desperation. Our marriage had devolved into a twisted game. Jacob only felt loved when I destroyed myself to prove it.

I walked up the sweeping staircase and entered the master bedroom.

The king-sized bed sat perfectly made. The silk sheets and plush pillows looked completely foreign to me now. I didn't belong in this room anymore.

I sat on the edge of the mattress. My left hand rested on my lap. The massive diamond on my ring finger caught the dim light from the hallway.

I pinched the metal band. I pulled it forward. It slid over my knuckle with zero resistance. I had lost ten pounds this month alone.

I placed the ring on the nightstand. The metal clinked against the glass top.

"Turns out, what I was desperately holding onto wasn't love," I whispered to the empty room. "It was a man who would never be satisfied."

"Are you practicing for a soap opera?"

I flinched.

Jacob stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. He wore the same tailored suit from his office, though his tie hung loose around his neck. He had been standing outside the door. Listening.

"How long have you been there?" I asked.

"Long enough to hear you talking to yourself." He walked into the room, his expensive leather shoes sinking into the carpet. "I told you you'd come crawling back. You didn't even make it to a hotel this time."

"This is my house. Half of it, anyway."

"Right." He chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Are you done with the tantrum? Because I skipped my birthday dinner for this."

"I didn't ask you to skip anything."

"You left your trash on my floor."

Jacob reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the folded white paper from the hospital. He tossed it onto the mattress. It landed inches from my hand.

"Fake medical records, Giselle?" he asked. His tone was heavy with disgust. "This is a new low, even for you."

"They aren't fake."

"Terminal stomach cancer? Six months to live?" He laughed loudly, shaking his head. "You expect me to believe you hired someone to forge this just to make me feel guilty?"

"I didn't forge anything, Jacob. Dr. Evans gave it to me this morning."

"Stop lying!" he shouted.

I didn't cry. I didn't raise my voice. I just stared at his angry face.

"I'm not lying," I said quietly.

"You think a fake death sentence will make me drop to my knees and beg you to stay? You think this will make me stop seeing other women?"

"No. I think it means I'm going to die."

Jacob grabbed my shoulders. His fingers dug into my skin.

"Drop the act!" he demanded. "Tell me you faked it! Tell me you printed this out because you were jealous of the girl in my office!"

"Take your hands off me."

"Admit it!"

"Release me, Jacob."

He shoved me backward slightly and let his hands fall. He paced the length of the rug. His chest heaved. He hated this. He hated that I wasn't screaming.

"You always do this," Jacob muttered, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "You escalate. First it's tears, then it's threats, now it's a fake terminal illness. What's next, Giselle? Are you going to hire a fake priest to read your last rites?"

"Call him."

Jacob stopped pacing. "What?"

"Call Dr. Evans. His phone number is at the top of the page." I pointed to the paper resting on the bed. "Call him right now. Ask him about my biopsy."

Jacob stared at the folded sheet. He didn't move to pick it up.

"I'm not playing this game," he said.

"Because you know I'm telling the truth."

"I know you're insane."

"I'm dying, Jacob."

"Shut up!"

"My organs are failing."

"I said shut up!"

He kicked the wooden leg of the nightstand. The lamp rattled. The diamond ring I had placed there rolled off the edge and bounced onto the carpet.

We both looked at the ring.

"Pick it up," Jacob ordered.

"No."

"Put the ring back on your finger, Giselle. Right now."

"I'm filing for divorce tomorrow."

Jacob closed the distance between us. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. His sharp cologne filled the space between us, a scent I used to associate with safety. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

"You will never divorce me," he snarled. "You love me too much. You worship me."

"I worshipped a ghost. The boy who brought me cough syrup doesn't exist anymore."

"I am the exact same man!"

"The boy I loved wouldn't let a twenty-year-old mock his wife."

Jacob's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked near his temple. He searched my eyes for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, his expression shifted into something resembling victory.

"I fired her," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"I fired her. After you left. I kicked her out of the office." He crossed his arms. "There. Are you happy now? I chose you. The game is over. Put the ring on."

"You didn't choose me. You just didn't like that I walked away first."

"I kicked her out for you!"

"It doesn't matter." I stood up. I was suddenly exhausted. My stomach cramped, a sharp reminder of the rotting cells inside me. "You can hire her back tomorrow. I don't care."

"Where are you going?" he demanded as I walked past him.

"To the guest room. I'm sleeping there tonight."

"You are my wife. You sleep in my bed."

"Not anymore."

I reached the doorframe.

"If you walk out that door, Giselle, I'm calling Dr. Evans," Jacob warned. His voice dropped, turning dangerously quiet. "I'll call him, and when he tells me you faked this entire document, I will never forgive you."

I turned around. I looked at the man I had spent my entire adult life loving.

"Call him," I said.

I walked out into the hallway.

Behind me, I heard the crinkle of paper. Jacob had picked up the hospital letter. Then, the distinct sound of his phone dialing broke the silence of the bedroom.