I stared at the ceiling.
For months, I had wondered whether the man sleeping beside me every night had ever truly loved me.
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Now I had my answer.
He was standing three feet away, planning his future with another woman while waiting for my heart to stop.
The strangest part was that I wasn’t surprised.
I was furious.
But fury was useless when your body had become a prison.
My fingers wouldn’t obey me. My legs were almost completely numb. Even swallowing required an exhausting effort.
The doctors called it a rare neurological disorder accompanied by progressive organ failure. They had given David a prognosis of several months, perhaps less.
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David had cried during the consultation.
He had held my hand, kissed my forehead, and thanked the physicians for everything they were doing.
He had been magnificent.
A devoted husband.
A grieving man.
A perfect performance.
Only I knew that **the illness destroying my body had not come from nature.**
