He Leaned Over His Dying Wife And Told Her…

He had been here many times before, and every time, this place evoked nothing but an unpleasant feeling of irritation and exhaustion.

He always preferred taking the stairs instead of the elevator. The elevator was often crowded with others, and he had no desire to cross paths with patients or doctors. He liked climbing the stairs so that no one would look at his face or ask him questions—not even polite ones. This time, he held a bouquet of flowers, hastily purchased on the way. Small white roses, as pale as the hospital walls.

He knew that Larissa probably wouldn’t be able to see or smell them, but it would have been strange to show up in front of the doctors and her relatives without flowers. Especially now, when his wife had been lying on her deathbed for a month. The flowers felt like a waste of money, but Cyril clenched his teeth—he had to maintain the appearance of a caring husband.

All the equipment, the care, the procedures—every single day she stayed there drained money from his pocket. Money that he could have used for something else entirely. With each step he took, Cyril became more aware of how much his irritation was growing.

How much longer would this go on? Larissa hadn’t shown any signs of improvement for a long time, yet everyone around him kept talking about optimistic forecasts, which required significant financial investment. Of course, in front of Larissa’s parents and the doctors, he appeared concerned, but inside, his resentment only grew stronger.

He thought about the opportunities that would open up if Larissa died—her apartment, her money, all her properties, and her business… everything would be his.

As he entered the hospital room, he leaned over his dying wife and whispered what he had never dared to say to her face before.

But he had no idea that SOMEONE WAS HIDING UNDER THE BED, listening to everything…