The Day He Asked For Divorce Was The Day I Was Dying Chapter 4
Only one small light was on in the hospital room.
I looked at Sam, and it took me a moment to process what he had said.
Margaret shot up from her chair, her eyes still red. “Sam, what on earth are you saying? Grace is-”
“It’s all right, Margaret,” I said, my voice quiet.
I didn’t have the strength to explain anymore.
Sam frowned, his eyes scanning my face as if trying to decide whether I was faking.
“Mom, you don’t know the whole story. She’s been fighting the divorce. Yesterday, after Juliette came by, she ended up in the ER. Don’t you think that timing is a little convenient?”
Margaret slapped him across the face.
Sam’s head turned, and for the first time, I saw something like confusion in his eyes.
“Sam, Grace has been married to you for ten years. Has she ever once faked being sick?”
He didn’t answer.
I closed my eyes. “Go home. I’ll be at the county courthouse at nine o’clock on Monday morning.”
Margaret looked at me in shock as I patted her hand gently.
Sam stood there for a long time before finally saying, “Get some rest. And stop with the drama.”
The door closed behind him. Margaret sat back down, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.
“Our family has failed you, Grace. I’m so sorry.”
I looked out the window at the pre-dawn sky. My voice was soft. “I don’t want him to feel guilty,
Margaret.”
“He should feel guilty!”
I shook my head. Guilt didn’t do any good, not in the end.
And Sam’s future had someone else in it now.
Over the next few days, I checked into hospice. Margaret came often, bringing soup that I couldn’t eat, then turning away to wipe her eyes.
I gave her a small wooden box.
“When I’m gone, my half of the house is yours. The money in my account goes to the children’s hospital fund. And there’s a letter for him.”
Margaret held the box, her lips trembling for a long time. “After everything, you’re still thinking about him?”
I said, “Not for him. For the person I used to be.”
Monday came quickly. It was also my birthday.
At six in the morning, the nurse took my temperature, 102 degrees.
The doctor reviewed my chart and said directly, “You can’t leave today.”
I looked at Margaret. “Margaret, please hand me my phone.”
Sam answered on the second ring, traffic noise in the background. “I’m already at the courthouse. Don’t tell me something else came up.’
I watched the IV drip, slow and steady. “I can’t make it.”
There was a brief silence before Sam let out a cold laugh. “This is the last day, Grace. I signed the
papers. They’re at my mother’s. You can file them later, or we can go through litigation.”
His voice got colder. “Are you involving my mother again? You’re just making this harder on me,
Grace.”
The strength drained from my hands as I held the phone. “Sam, it’s my birthday. Say happy birthday to me.”
Margaret grabbed the phone before I could finish, unable to hold back anymore. “Sam, what are you still doing at the courthouse? Grace is in the hospital. She doesn’t have much time!”
There was a screech of tires on the other end of the line.
Sam’s voice cracked. “What hospital? I thought she was faking it. Mom, what are you talking about?”
Margaret broke down and told him everything.
I tried to stop her, but I didn’t have the strength.
Time began to move strangely after that, slow and thick, like molasses.
The nurse gave me something for the pain, and my consciousness started to blur.
I could see the leaves falling from the sycamore tree outside my window, one by one, landing on the
ground without a sound.
Margaret held my hand and said Sam was on his way.
I thought of a winter long ago when Sam had come for me like that once.
It had been snowing hard when he ran into the station, his hair dusted white.
He pulled me into his arms and said, “Grace, I’m sorry I’m late. It won’t happen again.”)
But there weren’t that many second chances in a life.
I asked Margaret to open the voice memo app on my phone.
“Sam, if you’re hearing this, it means I didn’t make it until you got here.”
“The clothes in the closet… do whatever you want with them. Throw them away.”
“But in the second drawer of the kitchen, there’s a recipe for beef stew. Don’t drink it cold. Your
stomach can’t handle it.”
I had to stop and catch my breath.
“I don’t hate you, Sam. I’m just a little sad. Ten years is a long time, and still, we couldn’t make it to
the end.”
Margaret begged me to stop talking.
But I had one more thing to say. “Don’t ever tell anyone they’re strong again. No one is strong
because they choose to be. Next time, I want to be the kind of woman who gets taken care of.
At 11:23 a.m., the heart monitor let out a single, steady tone.
Margaret lunged forward, screaming my name.
At the end of the hallway, Sam burst out of the elevator, his shirt wrinkled beyond belief.
He heard the sound, and his feet stopped.
The doctor came out of the room and pulled off her mask. “Are you the husband?”
Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The doctor handed him the death certificate. “The patient, Grace Holloway, died at 11:23 a.m. from a massive hemorrhage due to stage four pancreatic cancer.”