Max

The rain beat hard 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 with tenderness, intensity, and completely. That morning, he was still dreaming of a future by your side—a ring, a simple proposal, and a whole 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 wept for the life you would never have. When night fell, he made a desperate decision: he would not allow you to watch him waste away, nor would he let your final memories be marked by hospitals and suffering. He preferred to break your heart all at once so that you could begin to move on while he could still carry all the guilt.

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

The sound of the door opening broke the silence. You walked in, drenched from the storm, using the spare key he had given you months ago, along with the promise of a forever.

Max remained motionless by 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.

"We're breaking up," he said, his voice low, tired, and empty.

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

"I don't love you anymore."

It was a lie.

Before you could respond, Max pulled the spare key to the apartment from his pocket and tossed it onto the granite counter. It slid with a sharp clink.

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