On My Knees to My Dying Wife

Aria's POV

The harsh fluorescent lights stung my eyes as I gripped the chair armrests, knuckles white, watching Dr. Patel flip through my test results.

Please, tell me this is just a mistake.

"Stage four pancreatic cancer."

The world went silent.

The diagnosis trembled in my hands, medical terms spelling out my death sentence. Six months. Only six months left.

Tears blurred my vision instantly, my chest crushed tight. Twenty-eight years of life, ending with a piece of paper?

"No... this can't be happening... I was planning Christmas vacation yesterday..."

"I recommend notifying family immediately, Mrs. Murray. You'll need support," Dr. Patel said gently.

I let out a bitter laugh, tears dropping onto the diagnosis. "Family? Doctor, I don't even have anyone to call."

Ding—

My phone buzzed. An Instagram notification slapped me in the face.

@AtlasMurray posted a new update

With shaking hands, I opened it. The image cut through my heart like a knife. Under Bali's blue skies, Atlas was doing couples yoga with a young woman, pressed close together, beaming.

Sage. That 25-year-old travel blogger.

Caption: "Found my adventure buddy ❤️ #BlessedLife #BaliVibes"

I couldn't breathe, my chest heaving. This was my husband, flaunting his love life eight thousand miles away, on the day I got my death sentence.

"Why... why are you doing this to me..." I collapsed onto the cold table, sobbing.

The Palo Alto mansion was eerily quiet. I slumped on the couch, still clutching that diagnosis, the paper soaked with tears.

I have to tell Atlas. Whatever he's doing, he has the right to know I'm dying.

I opened my MacBook and tried logging into our Instagram business accounts. I'd built these accounts from scratch, remembered every password, every marketing strategy.

Incorrect password.

I tried again.

Incorrect password.

Account locked.

"You BASTARD..." my voice echoed in the empty house.

He hadn't just cheated. He'd kicked me out of the digital empire we'd built together!

I slumped in the chair like my bones had been ripped out. This betrayal cut deeper than the cancer diagnosis.

An email from Kessler & Associates sat in my inbox, timestamped three hours ago—right when I was getting diagnosed.

"Dear Mrs. Murray, We represent Atlas Murray and formally notify you to cease all harassment, including malicious phone calls, threatening messages, and defamatory social media posts. Continued harassment will result in a restraining order."

I stared at "harassment." Wanting to tell my husband I was dying was harassment?

My stomach growled. I pulled out my credit card to order takeout for this body about to start chemo.

Transaction declined.

Payment failed.

Even my platinum card was frozen.

"So this is how ten years of marriage ends," I whispered hoarsely.

Night fell. I stared at Atlas's WhatsApp profile—our Napa Valley photo, when we still believed in forever.

One last time. Maybe he'll come back for this final journey.

My finger hovered over the screen for ten minutes before I pressed call.

3 PM Indonesia time. The moment it connected, Bali's ocean waves came through, along with Sage's sickeningly sweet laughter.

"Baby, who's calling so late~"

"Just work stuff, babe," Atlas said, then impatiently into the phone: "Aria? I'm working. Don't bother me."

"Atlas, I have something important—" My voice shook.

"Here we go again. God, Aria, ENOUGH! Didn't my lawyer make things clear?"

Sage's laughter in the background: "Is it that crazy ex-wife again?"

Those words hit like a sledgehammer. Crazy ex-wife? Ten years of marriage reduced to that?

I gripped the phone tighter, nails digging into my palm.

"Atlas, I want a divorce," I said coldly.

"Whatever. But don't expect my money," he said dismissively. "This business is mine. You have nothing to do with it."

Nothing to do with it?

I felt the whole world mocking me. My youth, my dedication, my love—all a joke.

Sage cooed in the background: "Baby, hang up! The masseuse is here, time for our spa~"

"Gotta go, Aria. We're busy."

The call ended.

I collapsed on the sofa, curled up like an abandoned child. Tears wouldn't stop, the pain made breathing nearly impossible.

The next evening, I drove to Malibu.

Salt air whipped along Pacific Coast Highway as the ocean sparkled in the sunset. I needed to see what kind of woman was worth Atlas abandoning ten years of marriage.

Sage's oceanfront apartment perched on the cliff, luxuriously decorated—obviously Atlas's new investment.

I rang the doorbell.

Sage was clearly startled, wearing silk pajamas, coffee cup in hand, fear flashing across her face.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here!"

"Congratulations," I smiled warmly. "You'll be taking over my life soon."

"What do you mean?" Sage watched me warily.

"I came to give my blessings." I walked into the living room, surveying this million-dollar love nest. "Nice place. Decorated with my husband's money?"

"Atlas said you separated!" Sage's voice trembled.

"Yes, so congratulations. Soon you'll be Atlas's only woman."

I studied this 25-year-old. Beautiful, young. I suddenly understood Atlas's choice—who doesn't prefer young, hot girls?

"Enjoy it, honey," I turned toward the door. "But remember—I was once exactly where you are."

"Wait!" Sage called out challengingly. "You think I'll feel sorry for you? Atlas told me you're a controlling psycho who won't let go."

I slowly turned around, facing this young, beautiful woman.

"He said you're old and boring, no passion in bed." Sage's mouth curled into a smug smile. "He said being with me is when he feels real happiness and freedom."

My vision became crystal clear.

"I know you're jealous that I'm young and beautiful, but—"

SLAP!

The sharp sound echoed through the living room. Sage covered her face, staring in disbelief.

"You... you HIT me?"

"Yes," I shook my stinging hand. "I hit a shameless bitch."

I stepped closer, looking at the red handprint on her face, feeling long-lost satisfaction.

"Listen carefully, little girl. You think you stole something? You stole a cheating piece of SHIT."

Tears welled in Sage's eyes, but I showed no mercy.

"As for young and beautiful?" I sneered at her. "I was too, and for longer. But you know what makes a woman truly beautiful? Dignity."

I headed for the door. "Soon you'll discover how worthless stolen men are. Good luck—you'll need it."

That night, Atlas flew back to Palo Alto.

He stormed in furiously: "Are you INSANE? What were you doing at Sage's? You HIT her?"

I sat at the dining table with divorce papers in front of me.

"I blessed you two. And educated that bitch."

"What game are you playing?" Atlas approached, eyes blazing. "You think acting crazy will fix anything?"

I stood and pushed the divorce agreement toward him: "No games, Atlas. Just ending this."

Atlas grabbed it, his face turning ashen: "Are you fucking KIDDING? The house, company shares, social media accounts—you want EVERYTHING?"

"Yes." I looked at this man I once worshipped calmly. "I want it all."

"WHAT?" His voice boomed through the living room. "You're insane! Those fans are there for ME!"

"Really?" I walked to the trash and picked up the teddy bear Atlas gave me ten years ago. "When you had only a thousand followers, who managed those accounts? Who wrote copy? Who stayed up until 3 AM replying to comments?"

I stroked the bear's fur, beautiful memories cutting like knives through my heart.

"Who registered the company under her name because your credit was shit? Who bought this house with her parents' inheritance?"

"That's different! This brand IS me! I'm the face—"

"Then take your face and start over." I hurled the teddy bear into the trash. "The Aria who built your empire? She's DEAD."

Atlas stared at the bear in the trash, confused and uneasy.

"You've changed, Aria. This isn't you. You don't fight back..."

"Fight back?" I laughed. "You're right. The old Aria wouldn't. She just gave and gave until nothing was left."

I walked to the window, looking at Silicon Valley's twinkling lights like distant stars.

"But you know what's really funny, Atlas?" I turned to face him directly. "I don't have time to hate you anymore."