ManyWriters

On the day we celebrated three years of marriage, I cunningly persuaded my spouse, Benedict Gabor, to put his signature on divorce documents.
My motivation stemmed from a medical diagnosis: stomach cancer with a life expectancy of only three months.
Benedict assumed I was just acting out. Irritated but unconcerned, he signed the papers before whisking his beloved Tylor Gabor away for a luxurious trip abroad.
When the reality of the situation finally dawned on him, Benedict employed various tactics - intimidation, manipulation, and even retaliation - in an attempt to win me back.
However, his efforts were in vain. The only farewell he received was at my memorial service, through a pre-recorded video message I had prepared.
"Benedict," my voice began on the recording, composed and unwavering, "if you're viewing this, it means I've passed away..."
It was on that day that the once-formidable and steadfast Benedict finally crumbled, losing his grip on reality.

The Vlogger's Last Laugh, A Terminal Love Triangle

As the second recording concluded, the third one immediately began playing.


The footage was unsteady, my trembling hands struggling to keep the camera still.


"Benedict, there's something you weren't aware of. We were expecting a child. However, I won't survive to bring our baby into this world."


The video opened with muffled sounds in the background— Benedict's voice, strained as he handled another of Tylor's suicide threats via telephone.


Shortly after, he exited the house, leaving an oppressive quietness in his wake.


I approached my nightstand, retrieving two medical documents.


"On our third wedding anniversary, I visited the hospital for a prenatal checkup. Instead, I collapsed in agony and discovered two life-altering facts. One paper confirmed my pregnancy. The other pronounced my impending death.


Chapter 7