But I was the only one there.

When the end finally came, it was gentle.

He squeezed my fingers, faintly. His lips curved into the smallest smile. With effort, he mouthed two words.

“Thank you.”

Not bitterness. Not blame.

Gratitude.

After the funeral, his wife reappeared. Composed.

Efficient. Already speaking in the language of ownership and division.

Legally, everything aligned in her favor. The marital home. The shared accounts. The car. Documents were signed. Keys were handed over.

Then she looked at me and said, “You’ll need to move out by the end of the week.”

There was no apology in her tone. No acknowledgment of the months I had spent caring for the man she had walked away from.

I packed quietly.