I won’t lie, I never expected to hear from my ex-wife again.

Not after she walked away six years ago, leaving behind a two-year-old daughter and a husband who had begged her to stay. Not after she vanished into the world, sending nothing but a yearly postcard and a stuffed animal to remind us she was still alive.

I also didn’t expect her to return like this, with a message that made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

Hey! Remember me? Doctors say I’ll be gone soon. It’s terminal. I just wanted to see you one last time. And Kylie. Please, let me!

The text felt surreal.

I had moved on. I was happily remarried now, raising my daughter, Kylie, and my baby boy, Jake, with my incredible second wife, Lillian. Our life was full of bedtime stories, baby giggles, and a warmth that I thought I’d never have again after my divorce.

But how do you say no to a dying person?

Can you?

So, I agreed to meet her.

She chose a restaurant for us to meet at. When I arrived, she was already seated, stirring a cup of coffee with a hand that was a little too steady for someone with a supposed terminal illness.

I sat across from her, unsure of what to say.

“So… how long do you have, Marissa? When did you find out that you were this ill? Are you sure about the diagnosis?”

“It’s stage four. So, maybe months, maybe weeks. Who really knows, Kian? But it’s been hard, you know?”

I nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy.

“I’m sorry. Truly,” I said.

Sure, I didn’t care for Marissa. But she had been my wife once, and I had loved her with everything I had. And she had given me Kylie… so, it was only natural that I was feeling some type of way toward her situation.

She reached for my hand, and I pulled back instinctively.

“That’s why I wanted to see you,” she continued, her voice soft. “And Kylie. I need to see her, hold her. Just once…”

I hesitated.

“Look, Marissa,” I said. “I’m going to be serious with you. You do know that Kylie barely remembers you, right? You left when she was two.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face.

“But still, she got my gifts, right? The teddy bears?”

“She got them,” I said flatly.

“I just… I just want to see her, Kian,” she pressed. “I want to say goodbye. I want to hold my child. I may have left, but I made her too, Kian. I carried her. My body did the work. So I… get to see her, and I get to say goodbye.”

I exhaled. I couldn’t argue with her words. I didn’t want her around my daughter, but I didn’t see any other way out.

“All right, but you follow my rules. Okay?”

Marissa nodded eagerly.

I didn’t realize then that I should have never opened the door to Marissa.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Lillian and I exchanged a look—we weren’t expecting anyone. I opened the door, and a huge teddy bear blocked the view of whoever was holding it.

Then a too-cheerful voice called out.

“Surprise!”

I nearly slammed the door in her face.

“What the hell, Marissa?” I hissed.

“I wanted to see Kylie. You said I could,” she beamed, pushing past me into the house.

Before I could stop her, Kylie came skipping down the hall, pausing when she saw Marissa.

“Hi, Kylie! It’s me, your mom!” Marissa said, almost giddy.

Kylie just stared at her. Then she turned to me.

“Daddy, who is she?” she asked. “Who is this lady?”

Marissa’s face fell. My heart clenched, not out of sympathy for her, but because I hated that she did this to herself.

“Kylie, sweetheart, why don’t you finish your coloring? We’ll talk in a bit, okay?”

Kylie nodded then disappeared into her room.

“Kids, right?” Marissa said, forcing a smile.

I should have thrown her out then. Immediately. Instead, I let her stay for dinner.

Over the next week, Marissa met Kylie at the park a few times. We never told our daughter about the cancer; it felt unnecessary when she barely recognized this woman as her mother.

There was no need for me to explain it to my child.

But then Marissa dropped another bombshell.

“The doctors reassessed my condition,” Marissa said, clutching my arm dramatically. “It’s a miracle, Kian! There’s a chance that I can live!”

I blinked slowly.

What the hell?

“Wow, that’s… that’s great,” I managed to say.

“Well, it’s not as simple as that,” Marissa said, biting her lip. “I can recover… but it all depends on the medication. There’s a new trial that the doctor thinks I should be on. But it’s expensive.”

I should have known.

“How much?”

“$20,000.”

She said it casually. Like it was as easy as asking me to pass her the sugar at a table.

“That’s a lot of money, Marissa,” I said firmly.

“I know,” she sighed. “But Kian, please….”

Her eyes flickered toward Lillian, knowing exactly how to manipulate her.

Lillian turned to look at me, her eyes soft and melancholic.

“I feel bad for Marissa,” she said. “Maybe we can…”

I also felt bad for her.

So, we considered it.

And that was almost the biggest mistake of our lives.

That night, Kylie walked into our room, clutching the teddy bear Marissa had given her.

She looked serious. Far too serious for an eight-year-old.

“Daddy,” she said quietly. “She’s lying.”

“What do you mean, sweet pea?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“She’s not sick, Dad,” she said, opening her phone. “Look.”

On her screen was Marissa’s social media—recent posts from just a week ago. Smiling selfies, a beach vacation, a tagged check-in at a concert. No signs of illness. But the real kicker? A comment from some guy under one of her posts: See you soon, babe! Counting down the days!

I felt something in my gut twist.

Kylie met my eyes. “She didn’t come here to say goodbye, Dad. She wants something.”

And suddenly, I knew she was right.

I confronted Marissa the next day. At first, she tried to cry, to act like she was misunderstood, but when I showed her the screenshots, her face hardened.

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “So what? You owe me. I gave you Kylie.”

I felt my blood boil. “I owe you? You walked away from Kylie! From me!”

She shrugged, unbothered. “And yet, you’ve done just fine for yourself.”

That was it.

“You need to leave,” I said, voice cold. “And don’t contact us again.”

Marissa scoffed but didn’t fight it. She walked out of my house, out of our lives, just as easily as she had six years ago. Only this time, I wasn’t devastated. I was relieved.

Later that night, as I tucked Kylie into bed, she looked up at me with wide, thoughtful eyes.

“Daddy?” she whispered. “Was I wrong to tell you?”

I kissed her forehead. “No, sweetheart. You were brave. You protected our family.”

She smiled, curling into her blanket. “I love our family.”

And at that moment, I knew—this was the life that mattered. The people who stayed. The people who truly loved each other.

Some people walk out of your life, and that’s okay. Because the ones who stay? They’re the ones worth everything.

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