The Last Wish of a Broken Heart

My husband, Raphael Donovan, suddenly told me he had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. The news left me devastated. I forced myself to suppress the shock and stayed by his side during the day, while at night, I contacted different doctors, desperately seeking any hope for his survival. Just as I decided to sell everything and prepare to apply for a spot in a clinical trial for a newly developed d**g, he looked at me tenderly and said, "All I want is my freedom in the end. Can you give that to me?" Unable to bear the thought of him being unhappy in his final days, I agreed, "Raphael, I wish for you to always be free, healthy, and happy." However, later, he held another woman's hand and told me he had fallen in love with her. It turned out that the ten-year marriage I had taken so much pride in had long since decayed. ***** I received a call informing me that my husband, Raphael Donovan, had collapsed while I was in a company meeting. I immediately instructed my assistant to take over the meeting and rushed to the hospital. It was a luxurious private hospital, its vast, empty halls exuding a sense of indifference. Raphael lay exhausted in a private room, with a doctor standing beside him. At Raphael's insistence, the doctor announced the diagnosis directly. Terminal illness. Late stage. The news almost made me faint. Desperately, I grabbed the doctor's sleeve and asked if there was any possibility of a misdiagnosis. The doctor, ever courteous, showed no impatience toward my grasping hands. He answered clearly, "Mrs. Donovan, I understand how you feel. With our state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment, the likelihood of a misdiagnosis is extremely low. I recommend focusing on improving the patient's quality of life rather than pursuing other treatment options." I collapsed into a chair, utterly drained, as if my entire world had crumbled. Raphael sat quietly beside me, my tear-filled eyes failing to recognize his expression. Choking back tears, I said to him, "Don't worry. Even if I have to sell the company, I will do everything to save you." Raphael merely nodded weakly and remained silent. After leaving the hospital, Raphael solemnly told me, "Eloise, I've thought about it for a long time. I don't want to stay in the hospital anymore, nor do I want to spend my final days being tormented by machines. I've chosen a care facility with a beautiful environment." Without much thought, I responded urgently, "Raphael, please don't give up on treatment so quickly. Let's try another hospital, okay? You're so young! We'll find a way!" However, Raphael suddenly broke down, shouting, "Are you deaf? Didn't you hear what the doctor just said? I'm done! Stop making decisions for me!" Seeing his anguished and distorted expression, I understood that he was struggling to accept the news and had made a rash decision in the heat of the moment. I gently took his hand and said softly, "Alright, Raphael. I respect your decision. Let's go home, pack, and head to the care facility." Raphael moved out of our home shortly afterward. During our ten years together, four in college and six in marriage, I had never seen him treat me so coldly. Since he moved out, we had almost had no contact. When I called him, he often didn't answer. Messages I sent on w******p went unanswered. He often stared blankly, as if lost in thought, ignoring anything I said to him. He frequently showed impatience or simply left in silence, disappearing for long stretches. He asked me not to treat him like a patient and even told me to visit him less often. I was heartbroken and distressed. A man in his prime, facing the countdown of his own life, must be in unbearable pain. I convinced myself that his growing distance from me was because he couldn't bear for me to witness his decline, fearing I couldn't handle the harsh reality of it all. All these years, I believed that the bond between us had always been there. But how could I possibly give up on him? Raphael was the most important person in my life, and if he were to leave, my world would collapse. During his final days, I was determined to give him the best companionship and do everything I could to find hope for his survival. While managing company affairs, I spent my days with him, preparing nutritious meals in every way I could, taking him for walks in his wheelchair, and accompanying him in doing the things he loved. At night, after he fell asleep, I would start researching, searching tirelessly for advanced medical technology abroad, constantly seeking a glimmer of hope for his life. Sometimes, I worked late into the night, surrounded by silence. Staring at the pitch-black window, I felt helpless, like I was drowning in despair. I wanted to cry out loud but held back, fearing I would disturb Raphael's sleep. At times, he lost control of his emotions, lashing out at me and driving me out of the care facility. Returning to an empty house filled with warm memories of us, I felt heartbroken. I began losing hair excessively, teetering between breakdown and anxiety. But no matter what, I refused to let his life slip away bit by bit. One day, I brought a carefully prepared lunch to visit him. The sun was shining brightly, and he was standing by the window, talking on the phone. The sunlight bathed his face, making his expression look particularly vivid. He was smiling, his demeanor as refined and carefree as it once was. I stood there, quietly watching him happily converse with the person on the other end of the line. I couldn't remember how long it had been since I last saw him smile and didn't have the heart to interrupt him. After a while, he turned around and saw me. His expression immediately darkened, and he hastily ended the call. He reverted to the gloomy Raphael, angrily asking me, "How long have you been eavesdropping? Why didn't you call out to me?" Feeling a bit wronged, I replied, "I didn't hear what you were saying. I just saw you were happy and didn't want to interrupt you." I quietly set the food on the table and softly said, "Go ahead and eat." After a moment, Raphael murmured, "I'm sorry." I smiled faintly, saying nothing more. The atmosphere between us grew increasingly delicate and strange. No matter what I did, he would criticize and nitpick, and he often seemed paranoid. It felt as though there was a real rift between us. I desperately searched for a way to fix it. A few days later, his birthday arrived. I carefully arranged a celebration for him. He curiously removed the cover, revealing the sports car he loved most that I had prepared for him. Raphael turned to me in surprise and asked, "Eloise, is this worth it?" I embraced him and said, "Raphael, as long as you're happy, it's worth it." Raphael smiled, patting my back gently. "Thank you," he said softly. Since his illness, such a cheerful atmosphere had been absent for far too long. I watched his smiling face, savoring the rare lightness and joy. When he blew out the birthday candles, he closed his eyes and whispered, "I wish for freedom in the days to come." After extinguishing the candles, he looked at me with a smile in his eyes. "Eloise, thank you for today. But will you give me freedom?" Though a sense of unease stirred within me, I hugged him tightly and said, "Raphael, I wish for you to always be free, healthy, and happy."