Chapter 2 The News

The present day.....

Back at home, Richard was still grinning at the divorce papers, he sat on his bed in his room, fingers steepled in front of his face. The divorce papers sat in a envelope at his side like a brick-silent, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

He keep staring at the papers like a secret he wasn't ready to share. The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft, golden glow of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains. Outside, the neighborhood hummed with life-distant laughter, the low growl of lawnmowers, the occasional bark of a dog-but inside, time seemed to have slowed to a crawl.

He wasn't sad. Not exactly. Not like the movies made you think you should be. He was just... tired. Not physically, though there was that too. It was a deeper fatigue-the kind that sits in your chest and makes your breaths feel like they have weight. The kind of exhaustion that comes from living beside someone who feels more like a roommate than a wife.

Dera had once made him laugh until he choked on his drink. Now, her voice grated. Even the way she walk pass him-made his skin itch. Their conversations had withered into functional exchanges.

It wasn't that she'd done something awful. She hadn't cheated or screamed or thrown things. But years of slow erosion-snide remarks, forgotten birthdays, nights spent on opposite rooms-had worn away whatever love used to live between them. He didn't hate her. He just didn't want her anymore.

He thought about handing her the papers tonight. Maybe when she's settled from work. He'd walk over, say her name, hold out the envelope. Maybe she'd cry. Maybe she wouldn't even be surprised.

When he felt like it was time for Dera to be back from work, so he took the divorce papers and left for Dera's room.

Dera stood in the doorstep for a long time before stepping into the house. The dim lamplight spilled across the living room floor, catching the edge someone standing upstairs where Richard stand, staring at something in his hand, like he always did now-distracted, detached, somewhere else.

She used to know him better than anyone. Now she wasn't sure if he even noticed when she left the room.

They hadn't spoken to each other for awhile, which worried her more than if they had. The silence had grown too wide, like a frozen lake between them. She wasn't sure if it could bear the weight of this conversation.

Still, she had to speak.

She immediately climb the stairs.

"Richard," she called out to him.

He looked up, startled a little, as if she were a stranger in the house.

He quickly hide his hand behind his back.

And answered, "Yeah?"

She swallowed. "Can we talk?"

She asked if he could spare her a moment and invited him to her room.

He sighed. Not loud, but enough for her to hear it. That subtle signal of reluctance, of impatience.

They both walked down to her room and she went ahead to prepare coffee.

She offered him but he refused.

Richard was also lost in thought on how to drop the news.

She gestured to the sofa opposite her. "please sit."

He complied, placing the envelope beside the sofa.

She walked over and sat across from him, on the edge of the bed, her frame thinner than he remembered, a patterned scalf wrapped around her neck . She looked up, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and resignation.

Knees brushing the coffee table, her hands clenched in her lap. She had rehearsed this a dozen times in her head, but now that the moment had come, her words felt tangled.

"Richard," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper .

He nodded, unsure of how to respond .

The rehearsed speech he had prepared evaporated from his mind .

A silence settled between them thick with unspoken words. Finally , Dera broke it.

I didn't call you here to reopen old wounds," she began, her gaze fixed on her clasped hands.

"But there's something I need to tell you."

Richard lean forward, concern flickering across his face. "What is it?"

She too a deep breath and, steadying herself, "I've been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And I need to go for treatment as soon as possible .

She too a deep breath and, steadying herself, "I've been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And I need to go for treatment as soon as possible .

The words hovered in the room, untouched.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Just stared at her like he didn't understand the language she'd spoken. Richard was shocked, He paused, the words catching him off guard. "She's sick?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

A strange mix of concern and hesitation flickered across his face.

They hadn't spoken in weeks, maybe months without bitterness. Still, despite everything, a quiet knot formed in his chest.

"Damn," he whispered, the anger fading a little, replaced by something heavier.

And then he blinked, once, twice, and sat back in his chair like someone had punched the air out of him.

"What?" he asked, barely a whisper.

"I didn't know how to tell you," she said. "We haven't been... we're not exactly okay.

But I didn't have anyone to tell.

She waited, bracing herself-for anger, for disbelief, for him to walk away or break down or say something cruel.

But he didn't. His eyes welled, slowly, like he was surprised by his own emotion.

"How long?" he finally asked.

"They said months. Maybe less."

Silence again. But not cold this time. Heavy. Raw.

He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time in what felt like years.

And she wondered, bitterly, if it really did take dying to finally be seen

Dera informed him that it was because she needed guidance.

Dera informed him that it was because she needed guidance; that's why she's telling him this: that she won't bother him and she can't bring herself to tell her parents because they once lost a child, so it would be painful for them.

She told him she had an appointment with the doctor the next day and she would need him to follow her.

Kola went back to his room, and upon getting there, he realized he left the divorce papers in her room. He hid them under the chair, so he was thinking of how to go get them.

He sneaked into Dera's room; she was fast asleep, so he crawled to where the chair was, was directly opposite the bed.

He dipped his hand under the chair and took the divorce papers.

While trying to turn and go out, Dera woke up and faced him.

She asked him if he had started getting interested in her since he realized she was sick and would die soon.

Kola couldn't utter a word, as if something was in his throat.

He quickly got up and ran outside. At the back of the door, he breathed heavily