Chapter 8: The Secret She Couldn't Hide

I spent my first night away from the house in a cheap hotel near the train station.

The room was small, but for the first time in years, no one was waiting for me to come home.

I placed my suitcase beside the bed and sat by the window.

My phone remained silent.

I had expected Maisie to call.

She didn't.

Maybe she had finally accepted that I was serious.

I laughed bitterly at the thought.

Maisie had never accepted losing anything she considered hers.

The next morning, my lawyer called.

"Mr. Blaise, your wife has received the divorce papers."

"What did she say?"

"She refused to sign them."

I closed my eyes.

Of course she did.

"She also hired her own legal team."

"I expected that."

"There's something else."

I waited.

"She wants the divorce process stopped immediately. She claims the marriage is still valid and that she intends to repair the relationship."

I let out a quiet laugh.

Repair it?

After everything?

"Tell her lawyer I won't withdraw anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

After ending the call, I went to the hospital for another appointment.

Dr. Carson looked at me with the same concern as before.

"You're getting weaker."

"I know."

"If you change your mind about treatment, call me immediately."

I nodded.

I didn't tell him that I had already decided to spend whatever time remained somewhere far away.

When I left the hospital, I saw a familiar black car parked across the street.

Maisie's car.

She was standing beside it.

Our eyes met.

She walked toward me.

"Tristan."

"Why are you here?"

"Because you won't answer my calls."

"I have nothing to say."

She stopped in front of me.

"I came to tell you something."

"What?"

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, Dash stepped out of the car.

I stared at him.

He looked nervous.

That nervousness had been there yesterday too.

Maisie turned toward him.

"You shouldn't have come."

"We need to talk to him."

"About what?" I asked.

Dash swallowed.

"About us."

I almost smiled.

"I already know you're sleeping together. What else is there?"

Dash shook his head.

"It's not that simple."

Maisie suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Stop."

I looked between them.

"What are you hiding?"

Neither answered.

Then Dash whispered, "The first time we met wasn't a coincidence."

My expression changed.

"What does that mean?"

Maisie immediately cut him off.

"Dash, don't."

He looked at her with anger.

"You said he deserved to know."

"Not like this."

I stared at Maisie.

"Know what?"

She looked away.

For years, I had believed Dash was simply another man she had fallen for.

Now I realized there was something else.

Something that had started long before I knew his name.

"Tell me," I said.

Dash took a breath.

"Maisie knew about your illness."

Everything around me seemed to go silent.

"What?"

Maisie closed her eyes.

"I found out last year," she whispered.

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Last year?"

"Yes."

"And you never told me you knew?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't know how to tell you."

I laughed bitterly.

"So instead, you brought another man into our marriage?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?"

She couldn't answer.

Dash finally spoke.

"She was afraid."

I turned toward him.

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that if she admitted she knew you were dying, you'd leave her."

My chest tightened.

Maisie's eyes filled with tears.

"I couldn't lose you."

I stared at the woman who had spent years making me feel unwanted.

"You already lost me."

She shook her head desperately.

"No, Tristan. I can fix this."

"You can't."

"Please."

She reached for my hand.

I stepped away.

"You knew I was dying, Maisie, and you still made me feel like I was the least important person in your life."

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought if I made you hate me, leaving me would be easier for you."

I froze.

Dash looked down.

For the first time, everything felt different.

The cheating.

The cruel words.

The men she brought home.

Maybe there had been something beneath all of it.

But understanding her didn't erase what she had done.

I looked at her one last time.

"You should have trusted me enough to tell me the truth."

She whispered my name.

I turned away.

"It's too late now."

I walked toward the street without looking back.

Behind me, Maisie began to cry.

But I didn't stop.

For the first time, I understood that regret could come from both sides.

She regretted what she had done.

And I regretted spending so much of my remaining life believing I wasn't worth being loved.