The Quiet End of Us

We had been in love for years, and everyone believed that Henley was utterly devoted to me.

Even I thought so—until the day I saw him in bed with a younger woman.

I lost all will to live and chose the most peaceful way to end it all.

When Henley found out I had donated my body, he completely lost his mind.

"Professor Noe, have you really made up your mind?"

Hearing the slightly mournful voice on the other end of the line, Joanna Noe absentmindedly twisted the wedding ring on her finger and replied, "Yes, I've made my decision to donate my body."

"But your condition... There might still be a chance—" the person on the other end began.

"Pancreatic cancer is unbearable," Joanna interrupted calmly. "You're my student and a front-line doctor—you should know better than anyone else. Besides, I can't hold on any longer."

She slid the ring off her finger, a flash of sorrow crossing her eyes. "While my organs are still in relatively good shape, I want to go peacefully. Donating my body to the medical school will be the last lesson I can give you all as a teacher."

The ring traced a silver arc through the air, landing in the trash can.

After a brief silence, her student spoke. "We'll schedule it as you wish—seven days from now. I'll draft the donation agreement and send it to you soon. Please... take care of yourself in the meantime."

The sound of the front door unlocking broke the quiet.

A man in a black trench coat stepped inside—Henley Zeal. He caught sight of Joanna lowering her phone and asked curiously, "Joanna, who were you talking to?"

"My student," she answered.

Like Henley, Joanna was one of the youngest professors at the medical school, mentoring countless students. Unlike him, she was approachable and patient, earning the admiration of her pupils.

"By the way," Joanna continued, turning the question on him, "you mentioned earlier that there was an emergency at the hospital. Did you resolve it?"

The question made Henley's heart skip a beat, his body stiffening slightly.

After a moment, he replied, feigning nonchalance, "Mostly."

Joanna could tell he was lying.

They had been together for 24 years, from meeting and falling in love to getting married. By now, she knew every nuance of Henley—his tone, his gestures, even the smallest changes in his expression.

Wanting to shake off the unease, Henley quickly changed the subject. "What do you feel like eating tonight? I'll cook for you."

Joanna didn't know how to cook.

As a child, her parents handled meals. After they passed, Henley took over, managing every detail of her life with care.

People often said someone like Henley—a genius surgeon—was born to wield a scalpel, not waste his talents in the kitchen.

Henley never complained.

"Taking care of Joanna is my greatest blessing," he'd say.

"If she ever stops needing me, that's when I won't survive."

"I can't imagine a life without her."

The aloof and distant Henley, who always kept others at arm's length, became soft and tender when it came to his wife. It amazed everyone who saw it.

Their colleagues often said Joanna was lucky to marry Henley.

Joanna thought so too—until the day she saw her husband, the same man who swore he couldn't live without her, pull a younger, beautiful woman into his arms and kiss her deeply.

Only then did she realize that vows could change. People could, too.

After that, she started receiving photos from an unknown number.

The pictures were always of Henley and the same young woman—walking hand in hand under fireworks, sharing a kiss on a hot-air balloon, browsing couples' keepsakes together.

Before Henley left the house that day, claiming he had urgent work at the hospital, Joanna received a text from the same number.

[This afternoon, Henley will make me his completely.]

When Henley got ready to leave earlier, Joanna called out to him, "Can you not go?"

And what did Henley say?

"Be good, Joanna. I really have to go this time."