My wife was dying. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint whir of medical machines as I sat by her bedside, clutching her frail hand. Her fingers were cold, and her skin, once vibrant and warm, now seemed almost translucent. I watched the exhaustion settle into her features, and it broke my heart.
She turned her gaze toward me, her eyes glassy yet piercing, and said in a tired voice, “There’s something I must confess.” I could feel my own heart racing at the weight of her words.
“Shhh,” I said gently, squeezing her hand. “There’s nothing to confess. Everything’s alright.” I hoped my tone could offer her comfort, could blanket her in reassurance as she stood on the precipice of life and death.
“No,” she insisted, her voice barely above a whisper, each word weighed with a gravity that hung heavy in the air. “I must die in peace. It’s been eating at me…” She paused, a shuddering breath escaping her lips before she continued. “I had s*x with your brother, your best friend, his best friend, and your father!”

The room felt like it narrowed around me, the rhythm of the beeping monitors pulsating in a strange syncopation with my racing heart. For a second, shock coursed through my veins like ice water, seeping into my consciousness. I had spent years navigating the maze of our marriage, never once considering the betrayals that lay beneath the surface. But something within me had already known, hovering in the back of my mind like a dark shadow.
“I know,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling within. “That’s why I poisoned you. Now close your eyes.”
The admission lingered between us, a thick fog of unspoken truths and shattered dreams. She began to tremble, not from fear of death, but from the weight of everything revealed. I could almost see the realization dawning upon her—the betrayal was never just mine; it had always been ours, a twisted dance of love turned toxic.
As she closed her eyes, serenity washed over her features, transforming her into the woman I once fell in love with. Yet, with her last breath, a part of me felt an unexpected sense of release, a dark satisfaction in wielding control at the end. I leaned closer, my breath soft against her ear, “Now you can truly rest.”
Outside, the world continued, oblivious to the intimacy of our final exchange—the tragic end of a once-beautiful love story, tangled in deceit.
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