⸻
« When this is over, » Griffin used to say, squeezing my hand tight enough that I could feel it in my own knuckles, « I’ll spend the rest of my life making all of this up to you. »
⸻
After nearly fourteen months of treatment, something that had once seemed almost impossible finally happened.
Griffin was cancer-free.
⸻
I burst into tears right there in the oncologist’s office, both of us finally able to breathe properly for the first time in over a year.
Only a few hours later
But only a few hours later, while we were still at the hospital finishing discharge paperwork, Griffin turned to me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
⸻
« I want a divorce, » he said.
⸻
I stared at him, certain, for one confused second, that I’d somehow misheard him entirely.
He only repeated that his decision was final. No explanation attached. No real conversation offered, nothing that could help me understand why the man I’d spent the past year fighting alongside had suddenly decided, on the exact day we should have been celebrating, that he wanted to leave.
