It Turns Out You've Always Been There

In my quest for revenge, I married my boyfriend's uncle.

I'm Zenobia Smith, and I met York Wales five years ago.

It was a typical college day when I first saw him-standing under the sun in a crisp white shirt.

His clean, perfect image struck me, but it was his eyes-so clear and untainted-that held me.

His family was wealthy, and they had already arranged a marriage for him. But York, in defiance, ran away from his world and chose me.

We struggled after college. No jobs, no money. But we always had each other.

Then, things started to change. A company hired us, and York, after a year and a half, left to start his own business. Despite the hardships, we made it.

For five years, we were inseparable. I believed we'd walk down the aisle one day.

Then came the diagnosis. Acute leukemia.

"I can't afford the treatment, York. My family... they can't help. I'm... I'm too far gone," my voice breaking.

York's face twisted in agony. "I'll do whatever it takes, Zenobia. I'm not losing you. I'll find the money, I swear."

But nothing was enough.

The bills piled up, and we were drowning.

Then came the anonymous envelope, the one with money. I read the handwritten note over and over again, desperately clinging to it like it was my lifeline.

As the pain from treatment consumed me, York stayed by my side.

He was my rock. But soon, I started noticing the change in him.

His phone would ring, and he'd quickly shove it away, muttering about spam.

"York, who was that?" I asked one evening, my voice fragile.

"It's nothing, Zenobia. Just... just some junk mail," he replied, forcing a smile.

I could feel it in my bones. Something was off.

One day, when he stepped out of the room. I unlocked his phone.

The message was clear. "Tonight at 8, Doya Hotel, Room 203, waiting for you."

My heart stopped. The name on the message sent a chill through me-Winnie. His ex-fiancée. The woman his family had chosen for him. I could hardly breathe.

My entire world was crashing down around me.

"York... How could you?"

York had never turned his back on me during my sickness, but maybe the pressure was too much for him. Maybe he needed an outlet-or maybe he just had normal human needs?

I tried to rationalize it, to make excuses for him.

But as the days passed, my mood soured.

My treatment stopped going as smoothly, and I couldn't hide my anger every time he glanced at his phone. Finally, one day, I exploded.

He didn't argue with me.

He just calmly walked out of the room-and he never came back.

I began to resist treatment on purpose, refusing to take my medicine. My former doctors and nurses were at their wit's end. At that moment, I just wanted to wait for death.

Then, my new doctor-Woodruff Jenkins-walked into my world.

"Hello, I'm your new doctor, Woodruff Jenkins. Forty-two years old, Cancer sign, no bad habits, I own a house and a car, and after work, I just go home," he introduced himself, his voice casual yet confident.

I thought, What is he doing, giving me his personal details like we're on a blind date? But I couldn't help but notice that his introduction caught my attention.