When Love Died Little by Little

The first thing I did when I clawed my way back to consciousness after the craniotomy was open my chat history with Rebecca.

[Rebecca, my brain surgery is tomorrow.]

[They just handed me the critical condition notice.]

[If I open my eyes and you're not here, we are done.]

A full day had passed. No response.

I scrolled up. It was the same story before every single operation.

[Can't make it. I'll have someone sign it for you.]

[Busy.]

[Don't bother telling me in the future.]

Eventually, she stopped reading my messages altogether and assigned a personal secretary to me. His sole job was to sign my surgical consent forms, my critical condition notices, and every other document that required a spouse's signature.

Yet, the woman who was always too busy to reply was currently lighting up someone else's social media feed.

A grid of nine photos. A tropical beach in Maui. Golden sand, crystal water, and two figures standing so close their shoulders brushed.

The caption read: He keeps pulling these sweet little stunts to make me smile, over and over again.

It was posted exactly two hours before I was wheeled into the operating room.

I sent a brief text to the secretary: [You don't need to come anymore.]

Then, I dialed my lawyer.

"Draft a divorce agreement for me."

As the anesthesia wore off, the pain at the incision site flared up, sharp and relentless, keeping sleep far out of reach.

This craniotomy only had a one-in-three chance of success.

When my mind had been slipping into the darkness of the anesthetic, I couldn't help but wonder: if I never woke up, when would Rebecca actually find out?

Probably only when the morgue called her to collect my body.

After all, she never had any time or energy to spare for me.

Around dusk, the heavy door of the recovery room creaked open.

Rebecca walked in, carrying a thermal bag.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Good."

She unzipped the bag and pulled out a food container. "I brought you some soup."

I looked at it. Seafood chowder. Shrimp, crab, a slick layer of oil shimmering on top.

I am severely allergic to shellfish.

Austin, however, loved it.

"Austin got a terrible sunburn at the beach," Rebecca said, setting the bowl down. "I brought him to the clinic downstairs to get him checked out. His back is completely raw."

"I see," I murmured.

"Why aren't you drinking it?"

She leaned in closer, and a cloying, fruity scent washed over me.

Instead of answering, I asked, "Did you change your shampoo?"

She blinked, then smiled faintly. "Austin recommended it. It's actually pretty good. If you like it, I can have him grab a few bottles for you."

We had been together for eight years. She should have remembered that I couldn't stand heavy fragrances.

She should have seen that my head had been shaved completely bald before they cut into my skull.

But she noticed nothing.

Or maybe, since the last time she stepped foot in our house was six months ago when I still had a full head of hair, she had simply forgotten. Time had washed those details away.

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until the sharp chime of her phone broke it.

"Oh, right," Rebecca said, staring down at her screen. "Carter said you told him not to come back?"

"I won't need him to sign anything anymore."

"Well, as long as you're recovering."

I lightly touched my bare, stitched scalp. "I'm not. The tumor is back. I could go under the knife again at any moment."

She didn't lift her gaze.

I took a slow, shallow breath. "Do you still want this marriage, Rebecca?"

Suddenly, a man's laughter spilled from her phone speaker, bright and clear.

"Rebecca, look at this video! It's hilarious"

She quickly muted the volume and finally looked up at me. "What did you just say?"

The heart monitor beside me beeped in a steady, cold rhythm.

"Did you enjoy Maui?" I asked quietly. "Are you done with your work there?"

Her expression remained perfectly calm. "Austin had been begging to go to the coast for months. It coincided with a resort project I needed to inspect, so I brought him along." She looked down at her phone again, typing a quick reply before standing up. "If you want to go, I'll take you once you've recovered."

There was a knock on the door, and my neurosurgeon walked in to discuss the next steps of my treatment.

Rebecca checked her watch, grabbing her coat.

"I'll leave you two to it. Austin should be done with his examination by now."

She always slipped away like this, rushing back to Austin's vibrant, colorful world.

Nothing about me could ever hold her interest.

Once the door clicked shut, the doctor handed me my charts.

"Mr. Kelly, the recurrence is aggressive this time. I strongly advise you to seek specialized treatment in London."

Three years ago, a previous surgery had put pressure on my optic nerve, leaving my left eye completely blind.

I stared at the medical report for a long time, the words blurring through my single functioning eye. "Please set it up."

On the day of my discharge, Rebecca texted saying she would pick me up.

I sat on a wooden bench outside the hospital clinic, waiting.

A single canvas duffel bag sat by my feet, packed with discharge papers, medical records, and a mountain of prescription bottles.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled. Austin's feed had been updated.

7:00 AM.

A photo of two silhouettes running into the sunrise, one tall, one slightly shorter.

Caption: Early birds get the best views.

8:00 AM.

A photo of a steamed-up glass shower door with a smiley face drawn in the condensation.

Caption: Someone's waiting for me to clean up.

8:30 AM.

A sunny balcony breakfast with two place settings.

Caption: Mornings are better when you're being pampered.

The woman who had promised to take me home was entirely occupied living a cozy, quiet life with someone else.

At ten o'clock, Rebecca's sleek black sedan finally pulled up to the curb.

The passenger window rolled down, revealing Austin's grinning face.

"Hey, Oliver! Rebecca is dropping me off at work on the way."

My legs were stiff and numb. Grabbing my heavy bag, I stood up, but my balance faltered, and I swayed.

Rebecca stepped out of the driver's seat and opened the back door for me.

"Traffic was a nightmare," she said.

I didn't argue. I just carried my medicine over.

Austin leaned over the console, his eyes locking onto my face.

"Oliver, what's wrong with your left eye?" He tilted his head, inspecting me. "It looks... a little vacant? That's so weird."

He waved his hand right in front of my face.

"Can you see this? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Rebecca cut in, her voice dismissive. "He's just near-sighted."

"Oh..." Austin pulled his hand back.

I had lost vision in my left eye three years ago. I had told Rebecca at least a dozen times.

She still didn't remember.

Austin pushed his door open and hopped out, bustling over to my side.

"Oliver, what are all these pills? Can I see?"

He reached out, grabbing at my canvas bag.

I instinctively flinched away to protect my medicine.

But the bag wasn't zipped. As I jerked back, his hand caught the edge, and the contents spilled across the pavement.

Bottles and cardboard boxes scattered. Tiny white and yellow pills rolled into the cracks of the concrete stairs and slid under the car tires.

Rebecca frowned, looking away in mild annoyance.

"Can't you even hold a bag straight?"

I got down on my knees, slowly searching the ground.

My stitches had only been taken out a couple of days ago. Lowering my head sent a rush of pressure to my brain, making my vision swim with dark spots.

Austin knelt beside me. "Oliver, let me help"

In his clumsy rush, his palm came down hard, crushing several loose tablets into powder.

"Oh no, they broke! I'm so sorry, Oliver..."

Rebecca reached down, pulling Austin up by his elbow.

"Don't worry about it. They're just cheap pills. Leave them."

I slowly pushed myself up to a standing position. "Yeah. Cheap."

I looked at Rebecca. "Then let him go back inside and get the pharmacy to refill them for me."

She glanced at her watch, her brow furrowing deeper.

"Don't be dramatic. He didn't mean to do it. Just go back and get them yourself later."

"Austin is going to be late for his shift. I need to drop him off first. I'll call an Uber for you."

Austin was already back in the passenger seat, waving cheerfully through the window.

"See you later, Oliver!"

Rebecca didn't even look back as she got in and drove away.

I thought I would cry.

But my eyes remained dry, and my chest felt remarkably still. Watching her taillights disappear felt no different than watching a stranger drive by.

I had finally reached the point where it didn't hurt anymore.

The moment I got back to the empty house, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and signed my name on the dotted line.

Then, I packed.

A single medium suitcase was more than enough to hold the remnants of our eight years together.

On the bedside table sat a framed photograph of Rebecca and me.

It was taken at a gallery gala three years ago. Back then, I still had my hair, styled neatly, and she wore a soft cream dress, smiling up at me with real warmth.

I picked up the frame and turned it over.

On the cardboard back, someone had scrawled in black sharpie:

*Austin was here! ~*

I stared at it for a few seconds, then placed it face down on the nightstand, right on top of the divorce agreement.

His laughter had frozen in our life three years ago, and my hair had stayed there too.

My phone rang.

It was Rebecca.

She rarely called me unless she needed something. I picked up.

Loud, pulsing music blared in the background. She was at a lounge.

Before she could speak, I said, "Rebecca, the divorce"

"Austin saw that painting of yours from the biennial exhibition," she interrupted.

Of course. It was always about Austin.

I paused. "It's not for sale."

"He really loves it, Oliver. I'll write you a check for a hundred grand."

"I don't like him. I'm not selling it to him."

The line went silent for a moment.

"Name your price."

I let out a soft, hollow laugh and set the phone face down on the table, leaving her talking to an empty room.

I pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand.

Our marriage certificate was inside.

But my face on the document had been covered by a glossy photo sticker of Austin's face. In the sticker, he was flashing a cute, peace-sign grin.

My own face was completely buried beneath it.

I remembered the day we took that photo. My hair had been thick and healthy, and Rebecca had held my hand so tightly, her eyes full of devotion.

When I had first discovered what Austin did to our marriage certificate, I had confronted Rebecca in a fury.

She had barely glanced at it, offering a dismissive promise to get it replaced.

"It's just a piece of paper, Oliver. Don't make a scene."

"Austin is young and foolish. Just let it go."

Three years had passed, and she had never found an hour to go to the registry office with me to print a new one.

From the speaker on the desk, her voice drifted over the music:

"Austin is basically a kid, Oliver. When he doesn't get what he wants, he throws a fit. Why can't you just indulge him for once?"

"Since you want to play hardball over a painting, I guess you don't need your art studio open either. I'll have the lease suspended until you clear your head."

My lips curved into a cold smile. "Do whatever you want."

The line clicked shut, and the dial tone echoed in the quiet bedroom.

The left side of my vision was a blurry, gray fog, like a winter storm that would never clear.

A slow, familiar ache crept back into my chest.

When Rebecca first pursued me, everyone told her she was out of her mind.

I had a chronic illness that could return at any moment, an unpredictable temperament, and a cold disposition. I was the furthest thing from boyfriend material.

But she had insisted it didn't matter. She said she loved my quietness, my distance, everything.

For the first time in my life, I believed I could actually love someone back.

But what happened to that girl?

She got busier and busier, always promising she would make time for me once the next deal closed.

Gradually, the look of terror and heartbreak she used to have whenever I went into surgery hardened into exhaustion, then apathy, until she stopped showing up altogether.

She stood me up so many times, yet every single time, I told myself: Next time will be different. She'll be there next time.

Until the night I almost died on the operating table.

As my consciousness drifted, I remember thinking: I'm never going to see Rebecca again.

I would never again feel the warmth of the girl who used to look at me like I was her entire world.

When I woke up, the urge to see her was overwhelming.

I spent twenty agonizing hours on a flight to France where she was on a business trip.

When I finally tracked down her hotel suite, I found her blow-drying Austin's hair, the two of them giggling and teasing each other like high school sweethearts.

In that single second, the illusion shattered.

She wasn't too busy. She hadn't lost her capacity to care or share her life with someone.

She just didn't want to do it with me anymore.

That was the first time in my life I completely lost my mind.

I ripped the hair dryer out of the wall, slapped Austin across the face, and smashed every glass and vase in the room.

"Why are you doing this to me?! I almost died! Do you even care?!"

Shards of glass sliced into my bare ankles, but I couldn't feel the warmth of the blood pooling on the carpet.

"Do you think I'm some kind of joke?!"

Rebecca had stood there like a spectator, calmly picking up Austin to carry him away from the mess.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum? Calm down."

"You look pathetic right now."

I had stood shivering in the middle of the wreckage, gasping for air.

The hope that had carried me through twenty hours of travel right after major surgery dissolved into ash.

From that day on, Rebecca rarely came home. She put my notifications on mute, and I had to rely on Austin's social media just to know where my wife was sleeping.

Yet, a person starved of affection will cling to the memory of love like a lifeline.

It was like holding a piece of expired candy. The wrapper had melted, leaving a sticky, toxic mess in your palm, but you couldn't bring yourself to throw it away.

Because you had been hungry for so long, and you still remembered how sweet it tasted in the beginning.

So you keep your fist clenched, holding onto it until the last drop of sugar drains through your fingers.

Until one day, you simply don't have the strength to hold on anymore.

Three days later, I received a text from Rebecca.

[Company gala tonight at eight. Be there.]

She never read my messages, and she still hadn't touched the divorce papers.

After a moment of thought, I decided it was best to end this face-to-face.

I put on a realistic wig, slipped the signed divorce agreement into my bag, and left.

The ballroom was spectacular, lit by massive crystal chandeliers, filled with the clinking of champagne flutes and soft jazz.

Near the entrance, I spotted Rebecca. Austin was at her side.

They were slow-dancing in the center of the floor.

He was a clumsy dancer, repeatedly stepping on her toes, but Rebecca only leaned in and whispered something that made them both laugh.

I watched them for a quiet minute before walking into the crowd.

Austin leaned in close to her ear, his voice carrying over the music.

"You shut down Oliver's studio because of me. Won't he be furious?"

Without missing a beat, Rebecca gave his waist a playful tap.

"He's desperate for attention. A little sweet-talking, and he'll fall right back into line."

I stood right at the edge of the dance floor.

The guests around us began to whisper, their eyes darting between me and the dancing couple.

"Is that Rebecca's husband? I haven't seen him in forever. Did he come to catch them?"

"With how much she spoils the new kid, who knows who actually holds the power in that house."

The music faded to an end.

Rebecca noticed me and stepped away from Austin.

"What are you doing here?"

Austin wrapped his hand around her arm, giving me a smug, sweet smile.

So he was the one who sent the text from her phone.

I looked at Rebecca. "I need a word with you."

Austin tugged her arm. "Rebecca, the next dance is starting"

She frowned slightly. "Whatever it is, it can wait until after the party."

Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once and plunged the entire ballroom into pitch darkness.

A wave of confused murmurs rippled through the crowd.

In the dark, a hand reached out from behind, grabbing my hair with a violent yank that sent a shooting pain straight through my healing scalp.

Then, the emergency lights flared back on.

I looked down. My wig lay on the polished floor.

My head was covered in nothing but a rough, uneven buzz cut, dominated by a thick, angry red surgical scar stretching across my skull.

The room went dead silent.

A hundred eyes locked onto me.

"Oh my god, that's horrifying..."

"No wonder Rebecca never brings him out. If my husband looked like that, I'd throw up just looking at him."

"What kind of disease is that? Is it contagious?"

A camera flash went off. Someone was recording me with their phone.

Austin had a tiny, satisfied smirk on his lips as he quickly knelt down to pick up the wig, holding it out to me.

"Oliver, I'm so, so sorry... It was dark, I couldn't see..."

I stood frozen, unable to reach out and take it.

Rebecca grabbed my wrist and began pulling me out of the hall.

Bald and exposed, I was dragged through the staring crowd.

The cruel whispers slowly faded behind us.

Neither of us spoke a word on the drive home.

The streetlights flashed past the windows, throwing alternating shadows across the car interior.

My mind felt completely blank, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

It had been years since I last thought about those dark, terrifying days.

The endless chemo, the constant vomiting, the bald reflection in the mirror, and the way everyone avoided me like I was a walking plague.

But back then, Rebecca had shaved her own head, stood between me and the world, and held me close.

She had told me: Don't be scared. I'm right here with you.

And now, she was the one who had thrown me back into that living hell.

When we stepped into the house, Rebecca poured a glass of water and set it in front of me.

"I've already had the photos and videos from tonight deleted."

I said nothing.

"Don't let it get to you. I'll make sure nobody talks."

I blinked slowly. "Does that include Austin? He's the one who sent the text."

She frowned. "The lights went out, Oliver. He couldn't see what he was grabbing."

"He isn't malicious."

I didn't bother arguing.

My eyes fell on her wrist. She was wearing a red braided string.

It was a matching protection charm she and Austin had gotten together at some temple.

"Are you really this blind, Rebecca, or do you just choose to be?" I asked.

"A brilliant businesswoman like you, and you can't see through a cheap trick like that?"

The living room fell into a heavy silence.

Then, her phone rang.

In the quiet room, the weeping voice on the other end was perfectly audible.

"Rebecca... Is Oliver mad at me? I really didn't mean to do it... I'll go apologize to him tomorrow, okay? Please don't be mad... I'm so scared..."

"Don't cry," Rebecca said softly. "Nobody is blaming you."

She hung up and looked at me.

"He's hysterical over there. I need to go check on him."

"You said you had something to tell me. Wait until I get back, and we'll have a real talk."

She walked to the entryway, grabbing her keys and slipping into her shoes.

"Rebecca."

She paused.

"You keep telling me you'll come back and talk. When have you ever actually come back?"

She didn't turn around. She opened the door, letting the bright hallway light spill into our dark foyer.

"I'll be back in an hour."

The automatic hallway light clicked off, plunging the doorway into darkness.

I walked into the bedroom, placed the divorce papers under the framed photo, and dragged my suitcase out.

I called a cab to the airport.

By 1:00 AM, I was boarded on a flight to London.

Three hours had passed since Rebecca's promised "one hour."

As the plane began taxiing down the runway, I switched my phone to airplane mode. Right before the signal cut out, a notification from Rebecca popped up:

[What is the meaning of this divorce agreement?]

A second later, the screen went black.