Until My Last Breath

Chapter 8 – Silent Battles

Jerome sat in the sterile white of the clinic, the steady tick of the clock pounding against his skull. The doctor’s words blurred in his ears, though he had heard them before, many times.

It’s progressing. We need to adjust your treatment.

There will be more fatigue, maybe fainting spells.

Prepare yourself, Jerome. This is not a fight you can win forever.

He forced himself to nod, gripping the edge of his chair so tightly his knuckles blanched.

When he finally stepped outside, the sunlight was too bright, the air too sharp. He leaned against the wall, drawing slow breaths until the dizziness passed. In his pocket, his phone buzzed—Amara’s name lighting up the screen.

He couldn’t answer. Not like this. Not when his hands were still trembling.

Instead, he texted back: Don’t worry, love. Work ran late. I’ll see you tomorrow.

A lie. One of many he had begun to tell.

That night, he returned home exhausted, but when Amara greeted him at the door with a smile and a kiss, he forced his lips to curve upward, pretending.

“You look tired,” she said, concern flickering in her eyes.

“Just a long day,” he replied. “Nothing to worry about.”

She accepted the answer, though hesitation lingered. Jerome watched her move around the apartment, her laughter filling the small space. His chest ached—not from illness, but from the thought of what would happen when the truth broke her world apart.

So he made his silent decision.

If it came to it, he would rather she hated him for leaving… than pitied him for dying.

And so, with every smile he faked and every distance he created, Jerome began building the wall that would push her closer to another man.