Mist Beneath the Fog

The blood on the white silk sheets wasn't from a broken heart, though mine was currently in pieces; it was the first physical sign that the cancer was winning. I stood in the shadow of our master bedroom, clutching a terminal diagnosis in one hand and Ethan’s discarded phone in the other, watching the man I’d built an empire for sleep off the scent of another woman. Seven years of sacrifice—of freezing basements and shared ramen—had transformed Ethan Blackwood into a titan, but as the moonlight hit the diamond on my finger, I realized I had fueled his rise with my own slow disappearance. My brother Oliver’s car was already idling at the edge of the estate, ready to help me liquidate the life I’d died to create. Ethan didn't know it yet, but by sunrise, he wouldn't just be losing a wife; he’d be losing the architect of his world, and I wouldn't be around to watch it burn.