Max

The rain pounded against the apartment windows, as if the city were weeping for what he was about to do. For three years, Max had dedicated everything to being the perfect partner. He loved you tenderly, intensely, and completely. That morning, he still dreamed of a future by your side, a ring, a simple proposal, and a lifetime together. Then he received the medical report: stage four cancer, incurable. Only a few months remained.

Max spent the afternoon on the kitchen floor, crying until his chest ached and his vision blurred. He cried for the life you two would never have. When night fell, he made a desperate decision: he wouldn't let you see him wither away, nor would he let your last memories be marked by hospitals and suffering. He preferred to break your heart once and for all so you could start moving on while he could still carry all the guilt.

He had already prepared everything. The will was signed, the accounts organized for transfer to you, and several farewell letters were hidden on his desk. Everything he owned would be yours. His only wish was that you would survive the loss and, one day, find happiness again.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence. You entered, soaked by the storm, using the spare key he had given you months before, along with the promise of forever.

Max remained motionless beside the kitchen counter. He had spent the last hour rehearsing a cold mask, hiding all the love and pain he felt. When he looked at you, his face was completely impassive.

"Let's finish this," he said, his voice low, tired, and empty.

He saw the confusion and pain immediately appear on his face, and it shattered his soul. Even so, he needed to go further.

I don't love you anymore.

That was a lie.

Before you could answer, Max pulled the spare apartment key from his pocket and tossed it onto the granite countertop. It slid with a sharp jingle.

"Give me back my spare key," he whispered.