The Dying Wife's Final Deception

Claire's POV

"Beep beep beep—"

The phone's ringtone echoed sharply through JFK's departure lounge. I glanced at the screen displaying "Johnson Law Firm" and hit decline without hesitation.

The thirteenth call. The thirteenth call this afternoon.

I dragged my suitcase to a corner seat, surrounded by hurried travelers whose faces radiated anticipation for their destinations.

Only I had no expectations for anywhere.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to inform you that your flight has been delayed two hours due to weather."

"It's fine." I didn't look up, my voice eerily calm. "I'm not in a rush to get anywhere anyway."

My phone buzzed again. A text.

"Mrs. Smith, the property division agreement requires your signature for confirmation. —Johnson Law Firm"

Mrs. Smith. Such a piercing title. Until yesterday, it filled my heart with sweetness. Now it stabbed through my chest like an icicle.

I trembling opened my photo album. Last Christmas's picture appeared—Kelvin and me in front of Rockefeller Center. He had his arm around my waist, and I was grinning like a spoiled child.

How naive I was then, thinking we'd grow old together.

But now, everything was over. Because I ended it myself.

The memories from that night a month ago crashed over me like waves.

The investor party buzzed with champagne and laughter filling the entire hall. Kelvin stood on stage speaking eloquently about the company's upcoming IPO. He wore the navy suit I'd chosen for him, so handsome that every woman in the room turned to look.

And there I was, standing in the corner, watching the man I loved about to reach the pinnacle of his career.

"Ready?" Mark approached me, his eyes full of reluctance.

"I have to be." I forced myself to stay composed. "Remember, make sure he sees."

"Claire, isn't there any other way?"

"No." I closed my eyes. "You know I have six months at most. Rather than watch me die in agony, better he hates me. Hatred is easier to move on from than grief."

Mark looked at me deeply, then nodded. He reached out, gently placing his hand on my waist.

At that moment, I saw Kelvin turn his head, his gaze landing on our corner.

Time seemed to freeze.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Mark.

In the distance, Kelvin's champagne glass crashed to the floor with a crisp shattering sound.

Tears burst from my eyes like a broken dam. I'd never forget Kelvin's expression in that moment.

Shock. Disbelief. Heart-wrenching pain. Finally, bone-deep fury.

"CLAIRE!" He rushed over, stumbling. "What the HELL is this?!"

His voice trembled, his whole body shaking. I saw tears threatening in his eyes, but anger quickly masked everything.

"Kelvin, I... I didn't expect you to see..." I feigned panic.

"How long have you been together?" His fists clenched, veins bulging at his temples. "TELL ME!"

"Three months," Mark answered for me. "Kelvin, sorry you had to find out this way."

In that moment, I watched Kelvin's entire world collapse.

He staggered back two steps, like he'd been hammered in the chest. The watching guests began whispering.

"You BITCH!"

That word tore from Kelvin's mouth like a blade through my heart. He'd never used such vicious language against anyone.

"Eight years, Claire! EIGHT YEARS! I thought I knew you!" His voice grew hoarser. "We're DONE! Completely DONE!"

I took a deep breath, my finger hovering over the "Delete All" button in my photo album. These 127 photos documented our eight years of love, three years of marriage.

I was going to completely erase all traces of us.

Click "Delete."

Confirm deletion.

The tears finally fell. I had personally destroyed the man who loved me most in this world, all to save him.

"This lady looks like she has a story."

A gentle voice suddenly spoke. I looked up to see a woman in her early thirties holding a coffee cup, watching me with concerned eyes. She had honey-colored hair, wore comfortable travel clothes, and carried a professional camera bag.

"You look like you're about to embark on a special journey." She sat across from me. "I'm Kate, a travel blogger. I'm writing a series about women's solo travel."

She pulled out her phone, showing her blog interface. "Would you be willing to let me document your story?"

My story?

I gave a bitter laugh. "I'm afraid your readers couldn't handle it. A story about a woman who destroyed her own marriage."

Surprise flashed in Kate's eyes, but she didn't retreat. "Your expression tells me your journey isn't about finding something, but about saying goodbye to something."

The airport announcement crackled: "Flight AA1205 to Boston is now boarding..."

"Boston." I murmured. "That's where we met. Eight years ago, a small café in Harvard Square."

"He is?"

"My ex-husband." Each word carried piercing pain. "The marriage ended yesterday."

Kate asked perceptively, "What happened?"

I looked toward the plane landing outside, lights twinkling in the night.

I didn't answer her question, but turned to look at her, forcing a smile. "I want to leave behind some things, before everything ends."

"What do you mean?" Kate's voice carried unease.

"I'm going to places we once planned to visit together." I stood up. "Boston, Napa Valley, Charleston, Sedona..."

With each place name I spoke, my heart ached a little more.

"You can write my story, but you can't reveal my real identity."

Kate extended her hand. "I'll document it carefully, no matter how special your story is."

I looked at her hand, hesitated for three seconds, then took it.

The moment our hands touched, I felt long-lost warmth.

But this warmth could no longer melt the ice in my heart.

"Let's go." I grabbed my suitcase handle. "The story begins now."