The hospital room on the 7th floor was quiet. Machines beeped steadily as bright lights shone on Harley, who was still weak after thyroid surgery.
Half-awake from the anesthesia, Harley slowly opened her eyes and saw her husband, Mark, standing by her bed holding some papers.
“You’re awake? Good. Sign this,” he said coldly.
Harley frowned in confusion.
“What is that… what kind of papers?”
Mark pushed the documents toward her.
“Divorce papers. I already filled them out. You just need to sign.”
Harley froze. Her throat hurt too much to speak, and her heart sank. She stared at him in shock, her eyes filling with tears.
“Is this… some kind of cruel joke?”
“I’m serious,” Mark said flatly. “I can’t keep living with someone who’s always sick and weak. I’m tired of carrying everything alone. I deserve to follow what I really feel.”
His calm voice made it sound like he was discussing something simple, not ending a ten-year marriage.
Harley gave a faint smile as tears slid down her cheeks.
“So… you waited until I was too weak to move or even talk… just to make me sign this?”
Mark paused, then nodded.
“Don’t blame me. This was going to happen anyway. I’ve met someone else. She doesn’t want to stay hidden anymore.”
Harley’s throat stung, but the real pain was in her heart. Still, she didn’t cry out. She only asked quietly:
“Where’s the pen?”
Mark looked surprised. “You… you’re really going to sign?”
“You said it yourself—it was only a matter of time.”
He handed her the pen. With trembling hands, Harley signed her name.
“That’s it. I wish you peace,” she whispered.
“Thank you. I’ll give you your share of the assets. Goodbye.”
Mark walked out, closing the door softly behind him. But less than three minutes later, the door opened again.
Dr. John walked in — Harley’s old college friend and the surgeon who had just operated on her. He held her medical chart and a bouquet of white roses.
“The nurse said Mark was here?” he asked.
Harley gave a small nod and smiled faintly.
“Yes. He came with divorce papers.”
“Are you okay?” John asked gently.
“More than okay,” she replied.
John sat beside her, placed the flowers on the table, and took out an envelope.
“These are the divorce papers your lawyer gave me to keep. You told me that if Mark ever brought his own, you’d sign these instead and send them back.”
Without hesitation, Harley opened the envelope, signed her name, and looked at John with calm determination.
“From now on, I’ll live for myself. I won’t force myself to be the ‘perfect wife.’ I won’t pretend to be strong when I’m not.”
“I’ll be here,” John said softly. “Not to replace anyone, but to support you—if you’ll allow it.”
Harley nodded, and a single tear rolled down her cheek—not from sadness, but from relief.
A week later, Mark received a priority mail envelope. Inside was the official divorce decree and a handwritten note:
“Thank you for leaving. It made me stop holding on to someone who had already let go.
The one abandoned isn’t me.
It’s you—forever missing the woman who once gave you all her love.”
In that moment, Mark finally realized the truth: he wasn’t the one ending the story. He was the one truly left behind.