The patient room on the seventh floor of a private hospital was unusually quiet. The steady beeping of the heart monitor echoed against the walls, its rhythm accompanying the pale face of Hannah — a woman who had just undergone surgery for a thyroid tumor.

She was still groggy from the anesthesia when she noticed her husband, Kevin, standing at the foot of her bed, a stack of papers in his hand.

“Are you awake? Good. Sign this,” he said, his voice cold, stripped of any mercy.

Blinking in confusion, Hannah asked weakly, “What is it… what papers?”

Kevin pushed the documents closer.

“Divorce papers. I’ve already filled everything out. You just need to sign.”

The words struck her like ice. Her throat still raw from surgery, she struggled to speak, her eyes filling with disbelief.

“This… must be a joke?”

“I’m not joking,” Kevin replied, his tone casual, as though he were discussing the exchange of a household item.

“I told you before, I don’t want to spend my life with a sick, frail woman. I’m tired of carrying the burden alone. I deserve to live the way I want — with the person I love.”

Tears slid silently down Hannah’s cheeks. She let out a faint, bitter smile. “So you chose this moment, when I can’t move or fight back, to force me into it?”

Kevin hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Don’t blame me. This was inevitable. I’ve found someone else. She’s tired of hiding in the shadows.”

The pain in Hannah’s throat was nothing compared to the crushing ache in her chest. Yet she didn’t scream or beg. Instead, she whispered, “Where’s the pen?”

Kevin was startled. “You… you’ll really sign?”

“Didn’t you say this was bound to happen? Let’s not waste time.”

He placed the pen in her trembling hand. With effort, Hannah scrawled her name across the paper. “There. I wish you happiness.”