The Cancerous Lie

To help cover our mounting debts, my wife took a job as a private nurse for her first love—a man now paralyzed from the waist down.

By the fourth month, Isabella suddenly demanded we sleep in separate rooms.

"You snore too loud, Lucas. You smell like sweat and grease when you come home from the site. It makes me nauseous just being near you."

Her eyes were cold, her voice dripping with a disdain I didn't recognize. We had been married for ten years and had never spent a single night apart. This was a first.