Dying As His Gold Digger Wife
1.1k Views · Ongoing · Lily
"Mrs. Cole, your bone cancer has reached the terminal stage. The tumor has caused irreversible damage to your left leg. We advise immediate amputation, followed by aggressive treatment."
The doctor slid the medical report across the desk, his expression grim.
"And if I don't?" I asked, my eyes glued to the report.
"If you don't, your condition will deteriorate rapidly." The doctor paused. "You still have a fighting chance."
A fighting chance.
The surgical nurses were already waiting outside the door. I picked up my phone and sent a text to my husband, Ethan Cole.
[The doctor says they need to amputate my left leg to give me a chance at controlling the cancer. Do you think I should do it?]
I stared at the screen, waiting for a reply from the man who had once promised to take care of me for the rest of my life.
It wasn't until the nurse came in to prep me for surgery that my phone finally buzzed.
Heart pounding with desperate hope, I looked down.
Instead of a message, a cold, automated bank notification popped up on the screen.
[Transfer Received: $5,000.00]
Staring at that string of numbers, the very last flicker of hope in my heart was thoroughly extinguished.
Ever since our wedding night, when I asked him for four hundred thousand dollars, he had been absolutely convinced I married him for his money.
The doctor slid the medical report across the desk, his expression grim.
"And if I don't?" I asked, my eyes glued to the report.
"If you don't, your condition will deteriorate rapidly." The doctor paused. "You still have a fighting chance."
A fighting chance.
The surgical nurses were already waiting outside the door. I picked up my phone and sent a text to my husband, Ethan Cole.
[The doctor says they need to amputate my left leg to give me a chance at controlling the cancer. Do you think I should do it?]
I stared at the screen, waiting for a reply from the man who had once promised to take care of me for the rest of my life.
It wasn't until the nurse came in to prep me for surgery that my phone finally buzzed.
Heart pounding with desperate hope, I looked down.
Instead of a message, a cold, automated bank notification popped up on the screen.
[Transfer Received: $5,000.00]
Staring at that string of numbers, the very last flicker of hope in my heart was thoroughly extinguished.
Ever since our wedding night, when I asked him for four hundred thousand dollars, he had been absolutely convinced I married him for his money.


















































