He Took Her To World Cup, I Left Him

In our twenty years of marriage, he watched five World Cups in person. Every time, I packed his bags, stayed up waiting for his text that he'd landed safely, and listened to him recount goals and roars I never quite understood once he came home. This year, I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. Less than three months left. For the first time, I asked something of him. "Don't go to the UMA World Cup. Stay home with me. We can watch it together." He was quiet for a long while, and then he booked the ticket anyway. "It's the last one," he said. "I don't want any regrets." I didn't try to stop him. The night the game kicked off, I lay alone in my hospital bed and turned on the broadcast. When the host cut to the kiss cam, I saw him. Sebastian Shaw was sitting in the middle of the stands, leaning into a silver-haired woman. The camera zoomed in as he bent his head to fix her scarf, smiling with a tenderness that looked almost young. It was a look he had never once given me in twenty years. The whole stadium was cheering them on like newlyweds. I smiled too, fumbled for my phone, and typed him a message. Linnea: All right then. I wish you both a long and happy life together. Farewell. Less than a minute later, my phone began buzzing wildly against the pillow. Ding. Ding. Ding. I didn't have to open it to know what was happening in the group chat called "The Old Gang". When I finally tapped in, sure enough, Sebastian's screenshot was already at the top, the two lines I'd sent him posted for everyone to see. Beneath it was his message. Sebastian: Linnea's working herself into knots again. I'm worried she'll do something rash. Talk some sense into her, please. Leonard Pike was the first to jump in. Lenny: Come on, Seb, watch the game if you want, but did you really have to let her see all that? Lenny: Linnea, sweetheart, football's the one thing that man's loved his whole life. Just let him be. Then came Wendy Calloway, who had always been the smoother-over of every dispute. Wendy: Old classmates watching a match together, what's the harm? It's sentimental, that's all. Don't read into it, Linnea. Wendy: Honey, your health has never been strong. Don't go ruining it over something so small. It isn't worth it. Wendy: Seb isn't that kind of man. You know him better than anyone. Wendy: Men can be overgrown children sometimes. Cut him a little slack. Messages tumbled in like snow. They chattered over one another, practiced and easy, making excuses for him and offering me "comfort." It was always like this. The few times before, I had only let the smallest flicker of hurt show, and they'd already built a wall around him, telling me not to "blow things out of proportion." But I was the one who was his wife. I stared at those familiar avatars, friends we had shared meals and trips with, and their words felt like soft little knives, each one sliding in until I could not breathe. Lenny: You're sick already. Stop making a scene. Yes. I was sick already, about to die. Why on earth should I still be making a scene? I never told them how serious it was, never told them the doctor had given me less than three months. I never told them this was the first and last thing I had ever asked of him. I set the phone down slowly and pressed the call button at the head of the bed. The on-duty nurse pushed the door open within moments. "Ms. Shaw, did you ring? How do you feel? Is the pain back?" "Take the pain pump off me." The nurse froze, then crossed quickly to the bed. "Ms. Shaw, you have late-stage cancer with widespread metastasis. Cancer pain is more than most people can bear. If we remove the pain pump, how will you cope?" "It's all right. Take it off." "But your attending physician said this is what's keeping your baseline stable right now." "I said, take it off!" The nurse looked at the resolve in my eyes and sighed, then carefully detached the line. The instant the medication stopped, pain rushed through every limb. I clenched my teeth as cold sweat broke across my forehead. "Help me with the discharge paperwork." "Discharge? In your condition, that's far too dangerous." "I don't want to die in a hospital." "Something like this needs a family member's signature." "I don't have any family." I forced myself upright and changed into my own clothes. Wave after wave of pain made it hard to stand, and I had to grip the edge of the bed just to catch my breath. The nurse tried again, "Ms. Shaw, if you leave like this, you'll be doing so against medical advice." "I know. Please, just process the paperwork."