Her fiancé stayed through the cake tastings, the dress fittings, and almost a full year of wedding planning — right up until the doctors said her illness was terminal. Then he left, and a devastated bride with a fully paid wedding did something no one saw coming.
“I can’t do this.”
At first, I thought Daniel meant the diagnosis.
Not me or us.
Just the cancer, timelines, and the awful, clean language doctors use when they are trying to be kind while delivering heartbreaking news.
I was 29, sitting at our kitchen table in leggings and one of his old college sweatshirts, still trying to process the words “advanced” and “terminal” from two days earlier. My tea had gone cold. My head had not stopped ringing since the appointment.Daniel stood by the door with red eyes and a packed overnight bag.
I remember staring at the bag first.
Because some stupid part of me thought, No, that can’t be right. He must be going to his brother’s for the night. He must just need air.
Then he said it again, quieter.
“I can’t do this, Serah.”
And that was when I understood.