Chapter 3

When Hathaway called me again, I had just charged over a hundred thousand dollars to her credit card. The surgery and prep fees at a top New York hospital were astronomical.

The neurosurgeon looked at me, giving me a warm smile. "Don't be nervous, James. We'll get through this together."

My throat tightened, and I almost cried.

From Miami to New York, I had been completely alone. When the hospital staff realized I had checked in with no family, their eyes filled with pity.

They had been taking extra care of me. I never expected that in a strange city, total strangers would show me more warmth than my own wife.

And that was when Hathaway's call came in.

"James, how are you doing over there? You spent a fortune. I assume your mood has improved?"

Her tone was icy. Even through the speaker, I could feel her irritation.

"What? Does the money hurt your feelings?"

"Hardly." Hathaway paused for a moment before asking, "When are you coming back? My parents keep asking where you went."

It had been a week. I had finished my bucket list and checked into the hospital today. I obviously wasn't going back.

Just then, a nurse’s voice echoed in the room. "Bed 28, time for your blood draw!"

"Are you in a hospital?"

Hathaway's sharp question made me chuckle. It proved she hadn't been home in days.

If she had set foot in our house, she would have seen my diagnosis reports sitting right there on the coffee table.

"I wasn't feeling well, so I came in for a checkup. Hathaway, have you... not been home?"

I waited for her excuse. If she gave me even a semi-plausible lie, I would have let it go.

She went silent for a few seconds before saying, "I've been busy."

"Staying at the office, or staying with Harry?"

It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

Because at that very moment, my phone had received a few more photos from a new number. The timestamp was last night.

Hathaway was fast asleep, wrapped in the arms of another man.

They looked peaceful, curled up together like a perfect, happy couple.

Looking at it, I let out a soft scoff. "Just sign the divorce papers. Think of that hundred thousand dollars as my share of the asset division."

Hathaway lost her temper. "Don't you dare! James, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I told you a thousand times, Harry is just a friend! You spend all your time cooped up in that house. It's rotting your brain!"

"I'm warning you, cut this out. I've had enough!"

I didn't feel angry at all. "Hathaway, if I died one day, would you actually be sad?"

"No! James, get back here right now so we can talk."

I sighed. Why was getting a divorce so exhausting?

Just as I was about to hang up, Harry's voice drifted through her end of the line.

"Hathaway, is he accusing us again? Ugh."

"I knew I shouldn't have come back. I told you, James is just incredibly petty."

"Just ignore him. He's had it too easy for too long!"

I didn't listen to the rest. I hung up.

A dull, throbbing pain exploded in my head. Fighting the intense vertigo, I opened my Instagram and posted a single status: "I'm leaving. The space is all yours now."

I tagged both Hathaway and Harry.

Since they thought I was a petty, dramatic husband, I might as well act like one.

Hathaway had just secured the NICE project. My post immediately caused a PR nightmare, halting the collaboration between the two companies.

While waiting for my final pre-op results, I went down to the hospital's rooftop garden. I took a few photos of myself under the sun and posted them on Ins.

"The sun is warm. The view is beautiful here."

A minute later, Hathaway called back, screaming.

"James, you are absolutely disgusting!"

"You're trying to ruin me, aren't you?!"

"Why don't you just die!"

Hearing her venomous words through the phone, my mind went blank. I felt something inside my chest shatter into a million pieces.

Right after that, my vision went dark. I heard nurses shouting for a doctor in the background, and the last thing I heard was Hathaway's irritated voice on the phone:

"James, what kind of act are you putting on now?!"