Chapter 1 Chapter 1
In Love with the CEO
Chapter 1
Author: Alexander Smith
It’s been a year now since my wife, Eleanor, has been suffering from this illness that’s devouring her day by day. This disease is taking my wife away from me, little by little—this woman without whom I am nothing, this woman without whom I can accomplish nothing, this woman without whom I am defenseless.
This illness is an unspeakable cruelty, and seeing her lying there, unable to do anything for her, is killing me slowly too.
Softly, I say, “Hey, my love, are you awake?”
Eleanor, with a barely audible voice, replies, “Yes, my darling.”
A bit excited, I say, “I have some good news to share!”
Eleanor, pulling the blanket toward her chest, says, “I’m listening. I hope it’s not what I think it is.”
Smiling, I continue, “I just found a specialist in cervical cancer. He’s working on an experimental treatment that’s very promising. I’ve read all his research and results, and I trust him. He’ll find a solution for us, and soon, you’ll be better.”
Eleanor, in a calm tone, says, “My love, I know you wish this disease had never existed, that this wretched thing wasn’t growing inside my body, but it is. It’s here, and I’m already in the terminal stage. Despite all the aggressive treatments I’ve endured, it’s progressed at a staggering pace, and now it’s spreading everywhere in my body. I would have loved for there to be a miracle cure for me, so I could spend a few more years with you, to enjoy our family a little longer. But I’ve come to terms with it: it’s not possible. There’s no miracle cure. I’m slipping away, and above all, I don’t want to spend my final days in a hospital. I don’t want to feel this pain coursing through my body with every injection. Please, let me spend my last days with you, my family, in our home.”
Powerless, I protest, “My love, stop saying that. You’re going to live a long time with us. I refuse to let you die without doing something. I refuse.”
Eleanor, taking my hand, says, “Promise me you won’t do anything. Promise me you’ll let me go in peace.”
Angry, I reply, “I can’t make that promise. It’s beyond my strength.”
Eleanor, still calm, says, “If you love me, let me go. Promise me you’ll find a good mother for Julia.”
Tears welling in my eyes, I say, “Please, don’t ask me that.”
Eleanor insists, “If you truly love me, as you claim, it’s time to show it.”
I kneel beside her. “Of course I love you. I love you more than my own life. I would take this disease in your place if I could, if only…”
Eleanor, wiping the tears streaming down my face, says, “I know, my love, and that’s why you’ll respect my wishes. Wipe those tears running down your face and help me brush my hair, please. Julia must be ready for school; she’ll be here any minute. I want to look beautiful for you both.”
I sit beside her on the bed, brush in hand. “You know very well you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and no one holds a candle to you.”
Eleanor, smiling with a very faint voice, says, “You only say that because you love me.”
We were there, talking, chatting, reminiscing about the good times we’ve spent together, when Julia opens the door. Deep down, I’m overwhelmed with sadness. I don’t know where she finds this strength despite the heavy ordeal she’s going through. I can no longer hide the grief inside me. This trial is transforming me, and I’m starting to feel it. I don’t want to lose my wife at all. She doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her right now. She’s such a good person, an angel. She should have had a long and happy life, something I failed to give her. I’m powerless to save her from this evil.
Julia, lighting up the room with her smile, exclaims, “Mom!”
Eleanor responds, “My girl, are you already ready for school?”
Julia says, “Yes, Mom, but I’d rather stay with you today.”
Eleanor replies, “No, sweetheart, you have to go to school. But tonight, when you come back, I’ll be waiting here, and we can talk and have a girls’ night together.”
Julia beams, “Got it, Mom. I love you. Have a good day!”
She kisses her mother on the cheek before heading to the door.
Eleanor calls after her, “Have a good day too, my love. I love you even more.”
Julia, turning to me at the doorway, says, “Take good care of Mom. I love you.”
I give her a smile. “I love you too, my daughter.”
With that, she closes the door and leaves us there. That girl has so much energy. When our eyes meet, Eleanor and I burst into laughter. That little one is quite a character.
Eleanor, with a barely audible voice, says, “I’m thirsty.”
I rush to grab the water pitcher to serve her, but she says, “No.”
Eleanor continues, “I want a glass of warm milk, please. Can you make it for me?”
I stand up, saying, “Your wish is my command, boss! With a sprinkle of cinnamon, right?”
She nods and gives me one of those smiles that never fails to lift my spirits. I go downstairs myself to prepare her glass as she requested. When I reach the kitchen, the housekeeper offers to do it, but I decline her offer. I prefer to do it myself. When I’m done, I place the glass on a tray with a napkin beside it and climb the stairs four at a time. At the door, I open it gently to avoid making noise. I see she’s fallen asleep, a smile on her lips.
I set the tray on the nightstand and sit beside her. I run my hand through her hair to wake her gently so she can drink her milk before resuming her nap, but she doesn’t move. My first instinct is to slide my hand under her chin to check if she’s okay, but there’s nothing. I take her wrist, but nothing. It feels like my heart is tearing apart inside me. God, please don’t let it be what I think it is, I beg you.
I scream in anguish, “NO!”
The housekeeper, rushing into the room, asks, “What’s wrong, sir?”
I shout, “Call an ambulance!”
I take my wife in my arms. I feel her body growing cold in my hands, but I keep talking to her, holding onto hope that she’ll wake up. I don’t want her to leave. I can’t let her go. She can’t leave. I refuse.
A few minutes later, the paramedics enter the room and ask me to let her go for an examination, but I’m unable to let her go. They approach us and check her pulse. They look at each other and declare, “Time of death: 8:27 a.m.”
I scream, “No, that’s impossible! She’s not dead, she’s sleeping! She can’t be dead! Get out, you incompetent fools!”
A paramedic, stepping closer, says, “Sir, we need to take her.”
I yell, “You have no right! Get out of here! Get out, I’m telling you!”
My mother, entering the room, says, “My son, please calm down. Let them do their job, I beg you.”
I cry, “Why do they want to take her? She’s fine, she’s sleeping! Look, I made her the milk she asked for. She’s going to wake up and drink it!”
My mother, in a gentle tone, says, “Let her go, please.”
I say, “I can’t, Mom. I’m incapable of it.”
She comes closer and takes me in her arms. It feels like my heart is being torn to shreds. How is this possible? How? She wasn’t supposed to leave. I was just talking to her; we were just laughing together. How could she leave like that, without saying goodbye? Why did she send me away? Why?
What do you think of the beginning of the story? I look forward to your feedback in the comments.
