The Final Goodbye

Amara Akwarandu sat on the hard hospital bench, her back bent, her fingers squeezing the paper in her hand like life itself depended on it.

Her eyes kept running over the words written there – BRAIN CANCER (PILOCYTIC ASTROCYTOMA).

The meaning refused to soften.

The line stared back at her, bold, merciless. And under it, the note that broke her soul: few weeks to live.

Her throat tightened as if someone was pressing it shut. She tried to breathe but air felt like hot stones in her chest.

The paper shook in her hands. It was not only the sickness eating her away, it was the finality of those words.

Her vision blurred. Before she knew it, hot tears had rolled down her cheeks.

She reached for her phone with weak fingers, the device heavy as if it knew the burden she was about to drop. She scrolled quickly, pressed Alex Spencer's number. He was her husband, her one person in the world or so everybody thought.

The call connected.

"Alex," her voice cracked, low, shaking, "I just came from the doctor... they said-"

He cut her off before she could finish. "Amara, please, if it's one of those small sicknesses again, just buy medicine. I'm busy."

And just like that, he ended the call.

The phone slipped in her hand, dangling as though it might fall to the floor. She stared at the screen, her tears running freely now. She whispered to the empty corridor, broken and trembling, "Alex... I'm dying."

Everybody outside envied her. They said she was lucky to have married the perfect man-the brilliant doctor, the shining star.

But envy was easy when they didn't know the truth.

It is easy to admire and praise a broken car because the body appears shiny and unarguably attractive. But not when you're able to take the key yourself, turn on the ignition and drive it.

Only then can your perception about that car change for the truth.

For four years she had lived with Alex, but she had walked through everything alone. He never cared what storm she was facing. When she fell sick, she went to the hospital alone.

When problems rose in the house, she handled them herself. And now, even as death announced its arrival, she had no hand to hold, no voice to comfort her.

Amara pressed the paper to her chest. The weight of the world sat on her shoulders, and she felt smaller than she had ever felt.

"Madam! Madam, please, come quickly!"

The sharp, urgent voice of a nurse cut into her sorrow. She looked up, startled. A young nurse in uniform was hurrying towards her, her eyes full of insistence.

"Please, follow me," the nurse said, holding her arm. "Dr. Spencer is around today. He's the best neurosurgeon we have. He might be able to help your case."

Amara froze where she sat. Her heart dropped. She knew who the nurse was talking about. She tried to shake her head, but her body was too weak.

"Come, don't waste time," the nurse urged, already lifting her gently to her feet. "Don't lose this chance."

Amara's legs dragged as they moved down the corridor. Each step felt like punishment. Her chest was heavy with something the nurse could not understand.

When they reached the consultation wing, the sight before her made her stop. A long line of patients waited patiently, hope written on every face. The air carried tension and desperation. People shifted on their seats, clutching files and test papers like treasures.

The nurse pushed open the door and led her in.

Inside, Alex Spencer sat behind his desk – her so-called perfect husband. He was finishing with a patient, his voice calm, soft, and professional.

He smiled faintly, offered reassurance, and the patient left with a bow of gratitude.

Then Alex looked up and his eyes landed on Amara.

For a moment, something flashed across his face: surprise, almost alarm. But within seconds, his expression hardened, wiped clean of anything human.

"Amara," his voice was flat, cold. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't wait for her answer. He turned away, walked back to his chair, and picked up a file as though she was a mistake that had entered his office.

Amara's lips trembled, but no words came. Her heart was breaking silently in her chest.

Before she could even gather herself, Alex spoke again, sharper this time, not sparing her a glance.

"I told you, stop bringing your little issues to me. I am busy."

His words pierced her. Her knees weakened. She clutched the test result harder, trying to steady herself.

The nurse, unaware of the storm, quickly collected the paper from Amara and placed it on the desk. "Doctor Spencer, this patient's condition is very serious. Please, look at her result immediately. She needs urgent review."

Alex didn't even lift his head. "Every patient here is serious. If all of them demanded I abandon procedure, how would I work?"

The nurse blinked, taken aback. "But Doctor-"

Alex snapped. His voice rose, hard and final. "Enough! Get out, both of you."

He turned his eyes on Amara at last, but they were colder than ice. "If you want consultation, join the queue like every other patient. And if this is personal, then wait until I get home."

The room fell silent.

The nurse looked at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing.

Amara's tears spilled freely now. She reached out, picked the paper with trembling fingers, and turned.

Her steps were heavy as she walked out. Outside, the bright corridor lights stabbed her eyes. She leaned against the wall, her whole body shaking.

Her breath came out in whispers, broken and painful. "If I need an appointment to see my own husband... then what is the use of this marriage?"

Her fingers pressed against the wall for balance. Her heart pounded, not just from the sickness, but from the emptiness swallowing her whole.

By the time Amara reached home, evening had already covered the sky, and her body was screaming from exhaustion.

Her hand still clutched the brown envelope she collected from her lawyer's office earlier.

She had waited there almost the entire day, signing, re-signing, answering questions she barely heard, her mind numb with pain.

When the lawyer finally slid the divorce papers across the desk to her, she had felt no joy, no freedom, only a quiet heaviness pressing her heart.

Now in her living room, she sat at the dining table with the envelope in front of her.

For a long while, she didn't touch it. Her eyes were on it, but her mind was far away, lost in the years she had given to Alex, years that had left her dry and empty.

She forced her fingers to open it at last. One by one she pulled out the documents, reading carefully through each line as though reading her own obituary.

Her name was everywhere, her signature on the final pages, and the bold title: DIVORCE AGREEMENT, staring back like a wound she could not hide.

Her throat ached as she released a deep, heavy sigh.

She closed the papers, dropped them on the corner of the table, and leaned back.

For a moment she just sat there, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers. Then slowly, she stood up and went into the kitchen.

Her body was weak, but she moved with quiet determination. She opened the cupboards, brought out rice, vegetables, chicken, spices. Her hands shook as she cooked, her legs unsteady, but she continued.

It was not just food; it was her last duty, her final offering as a wife.

By the time she was done, the dining table carried a full meal, but her heart was hollow. She sat again, waiting, her eyes blank, her face drained of colour.

Not long after, the sound of Alex's car came from the compound, his usual confident driving. Her chest tightened, but she didn't move.

She heard the engine die, the car door slam, and then his footsteps entering the house.

The front door opened, and Alex walked in briskly, throwing his car keys on the centre table without care. He pulled off his jacket as he moved into the dining, his face calm, almost bored.

His eyes scanned the table loaded with food, then shifted to Amara sitting silently in her chair. He raised a brow. "I thought you said you were sick earlier today," he said flatly. "Shouldn't you be resting? Why all this food?"

Amara's gaze stayed fixed on the wall. Her voice, low but steady, broke the silence. "This is the last meal I'll ever make for you."

Alex froze for a second, confused. Then he turned sharply, staring at her as if she had grown another head. "What?"

Amara's hand moved slowly, weakly, towards the brown envelope on the table. She picked it up with trembling fingers and stretched it towards him.

Her eyes met his, tired but unflinching. "Let's get a divorce."

The words dropped like stones in the room. Alex's body stiffened. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.

Finally, his voice came out, louder, sharper. "What did you just say?"

"I've already prepared the divorce papers," Amara replied, her tone calm but cutting. "Just sign them, and we'll go our separate ways."

Since their marriage, she'd always the dutiful and obedient wife, bowing to all his orders without questions. But all that ended today.

Alex's hand reached out almost unwillingly. He collected the envelope, pulled out the papers, and the bold black letters DIVORCE AGREEMENT slapped him in the face. His eyes darkened.

With a sudden burst of anger, he threw the papers back at her.

"Amara! Are you serious right now? Have you enjoyed this house so much you've now decided to start trouble? You want to use divorce to threaten me?"

The words rolled like thunder, but Amara did not flinch. She bent down slowly, picked the papers again, and returned them to the table with careful fingers.

Then she began collecting her small things: a notebook, her phone, and her handbag. That was all. She didn't even bother about her designer clothes in the bedroom or the expensive jewelries.

Her freedom from this hell of a marriage was all she cared for.

Alex watched her in utter shock, frustration and anger.

"You're being ridiculous," Alex continued, his voice rising.

"I'm not causing trouble," Amara said quietly, but her tone carried a finality he had never heard before. She looked up at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "I've already signed. If you don't believe me, check for yourself."

The calmness in her words unsettled him more than shouting ever could. He grabbed the papers again, his hands rough on the sheets, flipping through page after page.

His eyes kept landing on her signature, page after page, undeniable, final. His chest tightened.

When his eyes returned to her, they were wide with shock. He looked as if someone had pulled the ground from under him.

Amara stood. Slowly, carefully, she picked up her handbag. She adjusted it on her shoulder, straightened her back though her body was weak.

Her lips parted, and her voice was soft but clear. "Take care."

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps steady on the tiles. She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate.

She left the dining, left the house, left Alex standing there.

He remained rooted to the spot till his knees buckled and slumped to the chair, the papers clutched in his hand as if they were the last rope keeping him upright. He looked at the food on the table, untouched, steam rising and fading into the air.

His world felt unreal.

Minutes passed, but Alex did not move. He kept staring at the door she had walked out from. His mind refused to accept it.

She could not be serious. It had to be a joke.

At last, he pulled out his phone. His fingers dialed her number quickly, almost desperate. When she picked, his voice came sharp, commanding.

"Amara, I'll just pretend this nonsense is a joke. I'm giving you thirty seconds to apologize and come back home now."

He waited, counting the seconds in his head.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

His heartbeat was pounding louder with each number. But the line remained silent.

At thirty seconds, the call ended on its own.

He pulled the phone back, staring at the screen in disbelief. "She even had the nerve to hang up on me?"

He dialed again immediately, his hands trembling slightly. This time, the response came colder: "number not reachable."

Alex's breathe quickened. The reality was crashing on him like waves.

He stared at the phone as if he could force it to change. His chest boiled with anger he could no longer contain.

With one furious motion, he slammed his hand on the dining table. The plates rattled, the glasses clinked, and the steam from the food vanished into the empty air.

Alex stood there, alone, his heart racing, his hands shaking, his world slowly breaking apart around him.

Amara walked down the lonely road with slow, tired steps. Her handbag hung loosely on her arm, but her eyes were fixed straight, seeing nothing, only emptiness.

She felt like somebody moving without life inside her body.

Four years ago, she had walked into marriage with Alex because her parents wanted it, not because her heart wanted it. She had hoped things would change, that maybe with time Alex would warm up to her.

But instead, he gave her a heart filled with wounds. His heart had always belonged to another woman, one who had walked away from him to follow wealth.

And since that day, Alex never forgave Amara. In his own mind, she was the reason he lost love.

Four years. Four long years of marriage where she carried every weight alone. She was never wife to him; just somebody that filled space in his house.

Today, at last, her eyes were open.

And she was free finally of that prison of a marriage. But was she entirely free?

She was diagnosed of brain cancer and had only few weeks if not days to live. And the thought alone hit in her head like rough hammer. She was free of one pain only to die of another.

Yet, that death was worth it.

The thoughts sat heavy on her chest. Amara lifted her right hand and stared at the gold wedding band shining faintly against her thin fingers.

That ring was supposed to mean joy. Instead, it tied her to pain. Four years it had stayed there, mocking her with every passing day.

She closed her eyes, held it tight, then whispered with trembling voice, "Starting today... we go our separate ways."

With the last strength in her, she pulled the ring off. She stood by the bridge, raised it in the air for one last look, and then threw it deep into the river. The sound of the splash echoed in her ears like final goodbye.

Her chest burned. Her throat closed.

Suddenly, her head started pounding. The sharp pain shot through her skull, dragging her hand immediately to hold it. She bent slightly, her teeth clenched as she struggled for breath.

Just then, her bag began to ring.

She dragged it open, she noticed the medical report wasn't inside her bag anymore. Maybe she dropped it at Alex's house.

Her hands was shaking, and saw Adaobi's name on the screen. She pressed answer.

"Amara... oh my God, Amara, I just heard," Adaobi's voice cracked through the phone. "You're sick? Cancer? Why didn't you tell me before now?"

Adaobi was her only surviving family. Chief and Mrs. Douglas Akwarandu had relocated to Los Angeles with their two daughters for business and a new environment.

Douglas' company – the Dougs Electronics Hub flourished within few years of establishment. To keep that expansion and public status, he needed more wealthy allies – investors. That was how he met Mr. Spencer – Alex's father, who needed a wife for his son. Both parents went into agreement to arrange for the children's marriage.

Amarachi refused it at first. Insisting to finish her medical school first before marriage. But her parents were persistent. She had to drop out of school, obey them.

Unfortunately, her parents didn't live to see what became of the marriage. They both died in a crash. Adaobi had being the one handling the family business since then despite the ups and downs.

Amara pressed the phone weakly against her ear. "Adaobi... it's true. Brain cancer. Doctor said few weeks... nothing more."

Adaobi gasped. "Jesus Christ. Amara! How... how can you say it like this? Which doctor told you that? We will find another one. We will look for help. You're not going anywhere!"

Amara's lips shook. "It's not only that, Adaobi. Today... I ended it with Alex. I asked for divorce. It's over."

"What?" Adaobi's voice rose in shock. "You... you divorced him? Amara, wait-"

But Amara couldn't continue. Her chest tightened. Her breath cut short like air was being stolen from her.

She started gasping, one hand clutching her chest, the other holding the phone close as she collapsed onto the ground.

"Amara! Amara, what is it? What's going on there? Where are you?" Adaobi screamed from the other end, but Amara couldn't speak.

She lay shaking on the cold ground, gasping, eyes rolling back.

Her body stilled. The phone slipped from her fingers and silence took over.

When her eyes opened again, she was lying on a bed. She blinked weakly, her surroundings slowly settling in. And then she saw Adaobi sitting by her, tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching a folded medical report in her trembling hands.

Amara tried to sit but her body was weak. "Adaobi..."

Adaobi leaned forward quickly, holding her hand. "Amara, you scared me. Do you even know you almost died out there? They just finished running tests on you. I... I saw the report."

Her tears doubled. "Sister, please, don't do this to me. I'll find the best doctor. I'll search everywhere, even outside this country. Somebody will treat you."

Amara shook her head slowly. Her voice was faint but steady. "No, Adaobi. There's no need. I understand my body more anyone would. I'm tired. It's only a matter of time."

Adaobi squeezed her hand tightly. "Don't say that! Amara, please. You're all I have. Don't tell me you're ready to leave me. You still have life in you. We will fight. We must fight!"

Amara's eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't want to leave you, Adaobi. But this body... it's already giving up."

The two sisters cried together, their tears mixing with the heavy silence of the hospital room. Adaobi lifted her face, anger burning beneath her sorrow. "What about Alex? What did he say when he found out? Did he even try to help you? Tell me, Amara."

Amara's lips parted but no word came. Before she could answer, her hands started trembling. Her whole body began to shake uncontrollably.

She groaned, clutching her side, twisting in pain.

Adaobi panicked, jumping to her feet. "Amara! What is it? Tell me, what's happening?"

Amara struggled to reach her bag on the side table. With shaking fingers, she pulled it close and opened it. Inside, she found the small transparent rubber for her pain relief pills.

She ripped it open, turned it upside down, and shook it desperately. Not a single tablet fell out.

It was empty.

"No... no, no..." Her voice broke as she shook it harder, but nothing came.

Adaobi's eyes widened in fear. "Amara! What is going on? Talk to me!" She grabbed her sister's shoulders, shaking her. "Where are the pills? Amara, answer me!"

But Amara could not respond. Her breath came in short, hard gasps, her eyes rolling back as her strength drained away. She slumped back against the bed, her hand falling limply at her side, the empty pill rubber rolling out of her palm to the floor.

Adaobi screamed, grabbing her. "Amara! Please, open your eyes. Don't do this to me. Don't leave me!"

Her cries filled the room. She shook her again and again, as if her love could drag Amara back. "Amara! Amara!"