My husband was sick and dying.
But before he died, he insisted on divorcing me.
He transferred every asset under his name, including the company, to me and left himself without a penny.
The night we signed the divorce agreement, he held me and cried like his heart was being ripped out.
He said this was the last thing he could do for me. He didn’t want me, after his death, to become the widow everyone pitied-the woman whose husband had died.
It was his one and only wish before he passed. As the wife who loved him so deeply, how could I possibly refuse?
The night before we were supposed to pick up the divorce certificate, he suddenly fell into a coma and was rushed to the hospital.
The doctor issued a critical condition notice.
And I signed the consent form to forgo treatment without hesitation.
They couldn’t save my husband. He died on that rain-lashed night.
I turned away, wiped the tears from my eyes, and tore the divorce agreement to shreds with a smile.
That same night, I called the funeral home. Before dawn broke, I had him sent into the cremator and burned down to a handful of ash.
