While We Were Still Happy, My Husband Asked for a Divorce — Six Months Later, I Returned to His Family’s Home and Collapsed When I Saw the Shocking Scene Before Me
My ex-husband, Ethan Miller, and I met back in high school. I was the quiet girl who always buried herself in books, while he was the gentle, sincere boy everyone liked. Our love grew slowly and tenderly, like the first breeze of summer.
After graduation, we struggled together, starting life with almost nothing. He worked as a technical worker, and I found a job at a small office. We didn’t have much, but love made everything feel warm and hopeful.
Three years later, he proposed. No dramatic setup, no fancy ring. Just a rainy afternoon where he awkwardly handed me a simple silver ring and said:
“I’m not good with promises, but I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”
That was the most beautiful moment of my life. I trusted him completely.
After the wedding, we welcomed our son, Liam. During my pregnancy and the months after delivery, Ethan practically handled everything for me. He cooked, cleaned, shopped, massaged my feet at night, and stayed awake all night when I gave birth. Everyone said I was blessed to marry such a kind, devoted man.
And I believed that too—those years were the happiest years of my life.
But everything began to fall apart when Liam turned four.
Ethan suddenly changed.
He was rarely home. He talked less. He was short-tempered, easily irritated even by the smallest things. When I asked, “Why are you home so late?”, he snapped as if I had asked something unforgivable.
At first, I thought he was stressed from work. But day by day, he grew distant. He avoided my eyes. When I leaned close to him, he would quietly shift away.
My instincts told me something was terribly wrong.
I looked through his things—there was no other woman, no suspicious messages, no financial troubles. Nothing.
And then one evening, he said it.
“I want a divorce.”
Just like that. Cold. Emotionless. Final.
I cried. I begged. I asked him to think of our son. But he shut his heart completely:
“I’m not happy anymore. Don’t force this.”
His words cut into me like a blade. He pushed me away so harshly that eventually, exhausted and broken, I signed the divorce papers.
Our marriage ended in the most painful way—without reason, without mercy.
Six months later, I brought my son back to visit his grandparents — and what I saw made me collapse.
After the divorce, I moved out, trying to rebuild my life. Part of me still loved Ethan, but another part resented him for abandoning me so cruelly. I even told myself I wouldn’t let him or his family see our son again.
But over time, anger faded. After all, Liam had roots — the Millers were still his family. And Ethan’s mother, Grace Miller, had always treated me with kindness.
So after half a year, I decided to bring Liam back to visit.
I opened the door… and froze.
Ethan was lying on a bed near the window, his body shockingly thin, his skin pale and sickly. His cheeks were sunken, his hands trembling and frail. He couldn’t even feed himself—Grace sat beside him, spooning soup into his mouth while trying to hide her tears.
I felt my legs weaken.
Liam ran to him immediately.
“Daddy!”
Ethan turned his head slowly. Tears welled in his hollow eyes. His lips moved, but he couldn’t speak.
My heart shattered.
I didn’t understand—until Ethan’s father, James, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and whispered:
“He has late-stage cancer. The doctor said he doesn’t have much time left.”
My breath caught. I sank to the floor.
James continued, his voice trembling:
“He found out more than six months ago. But he refused to tell you. He didn’t want you and Liam to suffer… didn’t want you to spend your youth taking care of a dying man.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“So he pushed you away,” Grace sobbed. “He thought hurting you would make it easier for you to move on.”
I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
So that was why he became cold. Why he forced the divorce. Why he distanced himself from me.
It was never because he stopped loving me.
It was because he loved me too much.
I stayed beside him — even though it was already too late.
I wiped my tears and approached the bed, taking his cold, fragile hand into mine.
“Ethan… why didn’t you let me face this with you? Why did you endure it alone?”
Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t.
His voice was barely a whisper:
“I wanted you to live… not suffer because of me.”
I leaned down, crying into his chest.
“From now on, I’m staying. No matter how much time you have left… an hour, a day, a month… I’ll be right here.”
He looked at me with a mixture of love and regret — the same eyes that once promised me happiness on a rainy afternoon.
I held him tightly, wishing I could take back all the lost moments, wishing I had understood sooner.
I know I’m living the final days beside the man I loved through all my youth.
No fate could be rewritten. No miracle could bring back the time we lost.
But at least…
I could hold his hand until the very end.
I could tell him what I never stopped feeling:
“I never regretted loving you… even though our happiness ended in tears.”
