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

Unexpectedly, my funeral wasn't the somber affair I'd anticipated.


The venue was packed with mourners, many of whom I didn't recognize, likely attracted by the prominence of my name. My final farewell had transformed into a networking event for the upper crust.


The chatter ceased as Victor made his entrance, signaling the commencement of the ceremony.


Each rite was performed meticulously, yet Benedict was conspicuously absent.


For a fleeting instant, an eerie hush fell over the gathering. Then, the entrance burst open dramatically, and Benedict made his appearance.


I exhaled with relief, eager for the spectacle to unfold.


His complexion was ashen, his eyes ringed with weariness, and his attire unchanged from the previous day.


As he shuffled forward, his steps heavy and unsteady, his eyes fixated on my image at the front.


Chapter 6