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THEME:A STORY THAT TALKS ABOUT HER HIDDEN DARKNESS 🕳️🕳️
~SEMI - FINALE 😩😩🥹~
**FOR THOSE OF US WHO HAS REACHED TO THIS EXTENT I'M SO PROUD OF YOU ALL 🥲🥲NOW LET'S DIG IN
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~WELCOME TO THE SEMI FINALE 😩~
Jasper POV
Ten months. The number has a softness to it now — ten months of mornings that begin with the same small miracle: Cathy's breath beside me, the steady rise and fall of someone who stayed. It still catches in my throat sometimes, the way sunlight pours through our bedroom window and paints ordinary things gold. After everything, ordinary feels like grace.
The first few weeks after the storm were a brutal blur. I thought I knew how to be resolute; I learned how fragile resolve can be when it's wrapped around people you love. I wanted — more than I have words for — to make Cecilia pay with my own hands. The image of her smile, the memory of that slap, and the trail of poison she left through our lives hovered like a shadow. Every time my jaw tightened at the thought of her, Cathy would lay a gentle hand on my arm and say, quietly, "No. Let the law do what we cannot."
It wasn't a weakness; it was a kind of strength I hadn't learned to trust. So I listened. I handed her over. I watched the police cuffs close around her wrists, listened to the evidence that took years and pain to gather. Watching her led away, I felt something complicated — a cold satisfaction that justice would be served, and a deeper, stranger relief that it would be done without me becoming the man I feared I might become.
The trial was as ugly and as necessary as anyone could have feared. We sat in the back row together — Cathy's fingers laced in mine — and listened as every lie and rotten deed was pulled into light. When the judge pronounced the sentence, life imprisonment for her crimes, the courtroom felt simultaneously hollow and full. Hollow because no prison can erase the past; full because finally there was a line drawn. The world would not allow that cruelty to roam free.
In the months after, life began its patient work of mending. There were small things that healed me more effectively than any grand gesture: Luna's laugh echoing down the hall while she rehearsed a presentation for college; Lucas calling me one evening to complain about a calculus problem and then sheepishly asking if I could help; Cathy making coffee the way I like it and rolling her eyes when I pretend not to notice. We celebrated the ordinary — first day of term photos, late-night studying with too much instant coffee, lazy Sundays where the only appointment is togetherness.
Work changed too. I returned to the company with a new kernel inside me: the balance between duty and life. The business needed a steady hand, but it no longer had the power to swallow me whole. I kept my promises at home. I was at school plays, at parent–teacher evenings, at quiet dinners. I learned how to be present in the small moments that actually stitch a life together.
There were nights, of course, when the past reached out like an ache in my ribs. I still dreamt of Jude — not the monster he became in the end, but the brother I'd loved and failed. Those dreams were sharp and raw. They taught me sorrow and pity at once, and they made forgiveness less of an event and more of a series of small choices: to hold Cathy closer, to tell our children how proud I was of their courage, to give myself permission to be happy again.
Cathy's forgiveness changed the shape of me. She never asked me to forget; she asked for truth, accountability, and for us to keep building a safe world for our children. And build we did. Luna and Lucas — my two fierce lights — settled into college life with the same brave, stubborn hearts that saved us all. Luna studies journalism now, fingers always a little ink-smudged from her notes; Lucas is chasing medicine, the way he's always chased answers. They are young, imperfect, resilient — and they are, to my surprised gratitude, happy.
We mark time differently now. Anniversaries are quieter; gratitude punctuates our days. I take Cathy's hand in the kitchen while she hums off-key, and I remember the boy who used to run from responsibility. I remember the promises I made and how poorly I kept some of them at first, and how patiently she taught me change.
Sometimes I stand on the balcony at dusk and watch the sea — the place that once sang with danger — now a horizon that seems to breathe with possibility. The wind lifts the hem of my shirt and I think of Phyna, of what was lost and what has been rebuilt. I say a prayer for all of it, not to erase hurt but to give it meaning: a reason to be kinder, to love louder, to protect better.
Ten months is a small measure compared to the years that shaped us, but it's also proof: life can be reclaimed. The violence and the grief did not disappear — they are threads in the fabric of who we are now — but they no longer define the pattern. In their place are mornings of laughter, the steady sounds of children studying late, and the quiet, stubborn love that saved us all.
If someone asked me what I had learned these past ten months, I'd say this: justice matters, but mercy heals; vengeance consumes, while tenderness rebuilds; and nothing — nothing — is more important than the family that chooses to stay and choose love over and over again.
And I'm so proud of Cathy because she's now the proprietor of a big school — a dream she once thought impossible. I built it for her near our home, not just as a gift, but as a symbol of the new beginning we both deserved after everything we'd been through. Every morning, she would stand at the school gate, her soft smile welcoming the children as they ran in with laughter. Her joy was contagious, her kindness radiant — and for a moment, I believed that peace had finally found us.
But life has a cruel way of testing one's peace.
Lately, I began to notice little things — things that tore at my heart bit by bit. Cathy would grow tired after walking a few steps. Her skin, once warm and glowing, had turned pale and almost translucent. She bled easily, sometimes from a small scratch, sometimes from her gums. I would find her in the kitchen, sitting quietly, her hands trembling, pretending she was fine.
At first, she insisted it was nothing serious — "Just stress," she would say, forcing a smile. But I knew my wife. I knew when something was wrong. And this time, something was deeply wrong.
One night, I woke up to the sound of her coughing. When I turned on the light, I saw blood on her palm. My heart stopped. She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with fear and guilt, and whispered, "Please don't panic, Jasper. I'm fine." But I couldn't sleep after that. The image haunted me — the woman I loved, fighting something she didn't even understand.
The next morning, I took her for a full medical examination without telling her what I suspected. I waited in the hospital hallway for hours, my mind spinning with every possible thought. I prayed silently, over and over, "God, please, not her. Please don't take her from me."
Then the doctor came out, his face heavy with sadness. "Mr. Jasper," he said gently, "your wife's results are out. She has Acute Myelogenous Leukaemia."
The words hit me like a thunderstorm. I couldn't breathe. I just stared at him, trying to process what I had just heard. "What… what does that mean?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"It's a rare and very aggressive type of blood cancer," he said softly. "It starts in the bone marrow — that's the soft tissue inside the bone — and then spreads through the blood. It destroys her immunity, weakens her organs, and causes severe bleeding. And… she's already in the third stage."
I felt the room spinning. My knees went weak. For a moment, I couldn't even hear what else he was saying. All I could think about was her — her laughter, her kindness, the way she always tried to heal others — and now she was the one dying slowly.
When I found my voice, I asked the question that burned in my heart. "Is there a cure?"
The doctor sighed and looked down. "There's no permanent cure, Mr. Jasper. But she can live longer if she gets a bone marrow transplant. Unfortunately, finding a perfect match is rare… and so far, none of her family or yours has matched. Without a transplant, she may only have six months left."
Six months.
The words echoed in my head like a curse. Six months to say goodbye. Six months to hold her, kiss her, and pretend everything was fine.
I left the hospital in silence, my heart shattering into pieces I couldn't put back together. The wind outside felt cold against my face, and for the first time in my life, I felt completely powerless. How could I tell her? How could I look into her eyes and say, "You're dying"?
That night, I sat by her bedside as she slept peacefully. Her face looked so calm, almost angelic, but I could see the exhaustion hidden beneath. I brushed her hair gently away from her forehead, feeling my chest tighten as tears filled my eyes.
"I wish I could take this pain away from you," I whispered. "I wish it was me instead."
The thought of losing her was unbearable. I remembered every moment we'd shared — the laughter, the tears, the sacrifices, the promises. And I realized, no matter how much I tried to prepare myself, I would never be ready to live in a world without Cathy.
As the moonlight fell across her face, I took her hand in mine and made a silent promise — I will fight for you, Cathy. Even if it costs me everything. I won't let this disease take you from me without a fight.
But deep down, a voice in my heart whispered something I didn't want to hear — that some battles aren't fought with strength, but with acceptance. And that this might be the one I could never win.
Cathy POV
For the past few weeks, something inside me has been changing… something I can't explain. At first, it was just little things — constant tiredness, bruises that appeared out of nowhere, headaches that wouldn't go away. I told myself it was probably stress. After all, life had finally become peaceful again. Jasper and I were happy, Luna and Lucas were back in school, and for the first time in so many years, everything felt calm — too calm, maybe.
But then, my hair started falling out. Not just a few strands… it came out in handfuls. Every morning when I brushed it, I'd watch my hair gather on the comb, soft and lifeless. I would stand in front of the mirror, holding those strands in my trembling hands, and something inside me would break.
Each time I complained, Jasper would smile, kiss my forehead, and say, "You're just tired, my love. You've been through so much. Please rest." He would hold me close, his voice calm, but I could feel the fear he tried to hide. And when he took me to the hospital, the doctors always said the same thing — "She's fine, sir. Just exhaustion."
But deep down, I knew I wasn't fine. My body was screaming, my heart was pounding with an unexplainable dread. I could feel my strength fading day by day, like sand slipping through my fingers.
So today, I made a decision. I had to know the truth — even if it broke me.
I woke up before Jasper, quietly slipped out of bed, and stood watching him sleep for a moment. He looked peaceful… so peaceful. His hand was resting over my side of the bed, as if searching for me even in his sleep. My heart ached. I wanted to crawl back beside him, to bury my face in his chest and stay there forever. But I couldn't. Not today.
I quietly got dressed, covering my thinning hair with a scarf. My reflection in the mirror startled me — pale skin, tired eyes, and a weak smile that didn't even look like mine. "You can do this, Cathy," I whispered to myself. "You have to."
The air outside was cold and dry. The morning sun was just rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. People walked past me, carrying baskets of fruits, talking, laughing — living. I envied them. I wished I could trade my worries for their simple lives.
I took a cab to a hospital far away from the one Jasper always took me to. I didn't want anyone recognizing me, didn't want any doctor sugarcoating the truth because of who I was married to. I needed honesty. Brutal, raw honesty.
When I got to the hospital, the nurse at the reception smiled. "Good morning, ma'am. How can we help you?"
I swallowed hard. "Please… I'd like to see a doctor. It's urgent."
She nodded and told me to wait. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. My body felt cold, but inside, I was burning with anxiety. My heart beat so fast I thought I might faint before even seeing the doctor.
After what felt like forever, a tall man in a white coat walked out and called softly, "Mrs. Cathy Jasper?"
I raised my head slowly and forced myself to stand. My legs felt weak, like they could give up any second. I followed him into his office, clutching my scarf tightly.
"Please, have a seat," he said kindly. "Tell me what's been happening."
My voice came out cracked, trembling. "Doctor… I've been losing a lot of hair. My gums bleed sometimes, I bruise easily, and I get tired so quickly. My husband's doctors keep saying it's nothing serious, but I know my body. I know something's wrong."
He looked at me for a long moment before nodding gently. "Alright, Mrs. Jasper. We'll run some tests — a full blood panel, bone marrow examination, and scans. It might take a few hours, but we'll figure this out, okay?"
I nodded, though tears were already burning in my eyes. "Please, doctor. Just… tell me the truth, whatever it is. Don't hide anything from me."
The hours that followed felt like an eternity. I sat in the hospital corridor watching people come and go — mothers holding sick children, families whispering prayers, nurses hurrying with files. Everything felt distant, like I was watching life from behind a glass wall.
At some point, I looked outside the window. There was a small garden in the hospital courtyard. Children were playing there, their laughter echoing faintly through the air. My chest tightened painfully. I thought about Luna and Lucas — their bright smiles, their dreams, their laughter filling the house every morning. Would I still be around to see them grow up? To see them graduate, fall in love, live their lives?
My thoughts were interrupted when the doctor returned, a brown envelope in his hand. His eyes gave it away before he even spoke. I knew it — I knew whatever was inside that file would shatter my world.
He sat down slowly across from me. "Mrs. Jasper…" he began, his voice soft but heavy. "The results are back."
I nodded silently, my fingers digging into my scarf.
"You have Acute Myelogenous Leukaemia," he said carefully. "It's a very aggressive type of blood cancer. It begins in the bone marrow and spreads quickly. Unfortunately… your results show that it's already in an advanced stage."
My mind went blank.
I just sat there, staring at him, my lips trembling but unable to form words. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. My ears rang. My heart… it just stopped.
He continued speaking, but his words blurred together — blood cells… no cure… transplant… limited time…
I whispered, my voice barely audible, "How long do I have?"
He hesitated, his eyes full of pity. "Without treatment… six months. Maybe less."
The tears came before I could stop them. My body started shaking uncontrollably. "Six… months?" I repeated, choking on my words. "No… no, that can't be true… I have children. I have a husband who needs me. I just started living again…"
The doctor sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jasper. I wish I had better news."
I covered my face with my hands and cried silently. I didn't want to scream or fall apart in front of him, but the pain inside me was too much. My entire world — the life I had built with Jasper, the dreams I had for our family — was crumbling right before my eyes.
When I finally left the hospital, I felt like a ghost walking among the living. The sky was still bright, the world still moved on, but mine had stopped. I clutched the file in my arms like it was a bomb that could explode any minute.
As I stood by the roadside waiting for a cab, I whispered, "Don't cry, Cathy. Not here. Not now."
But the tears fell anyway.
Because how do you tell the man who saved you, who fought the world just to see you smile again… that you're dying? How do you look into his eyes — those same eyes that once promised forever — and tell him forever is almost over?
I pressed a trembling hand to my chest and whispered into the wind,
"What if he was aware of this; I thought as I boarded the cab
But while I was in the cab, I couldn't stop shaking. My hands trembled as I clutched the edge of the seat, and no matter how hard I tried, the tears kept falling silently. My reflection in the glass window looked like a stranger — pale, fragile, and lost. My heart pounded against my chest as the doctor's words replayed over and over again in my head like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.
"You have Acute Myelogenous Leukemia… you're already in the third stage. I'm so sorry."
Those words tore through me like a knife. I felt like the whole world had gone silent. Everything I thought I knew, every smile Jasper gave me, every "you'll be fine" suddenly felt like a cruel lie. He knew. He knew, and he didn't tell me.
The cab stopped, and through the blur of my tears, I saw our house — the same home that once made me feel safe now looked like a stranger's place. I sat there for a moment, frozen, my fingers gripping the door handle, trying to summon the strength to face him. The driver looked at me through the mirror, concerned.
"Madam, are you okay?" he asked softly.
I forced a shaky smile and nodded, though my voice was barely a whisper. "I'll be fine…"
But I wasn't. I wasn't fine at all.
As soon as I stepped out, I saw Jasper. He was standing by the gate, pacing endlessly, running his hands through his hair, worry written all over his face. The moment he saw me, his entire expression changed — relief washed over him, and he ran toward me like a man escaping a nightmare.
"Babe! Where were you?" His voice cracked as he reached me, pulling me into his arms like he never wanted to let go. His hands trembled as he touched my face, my shoulders, my arms, checking if I was hurt. "You scared me. You didn't answer my calls. I thought—"
He stopped when he saw my face. My tears. The way I wouldn't look at him.
"Babe, what's wrong?" he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.
"So…" I muttered, my voice cold and empty. "You knew."
He froze, his hands dropping instantly. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes darted from my face to the ground and back — guilt swimming in them like a storm he couldn't hide anymore.
"So you knew, Jasper?" I said again, this time louder. The tears came faster, burning down my cheeks. "You knew, didn't you?"
He tried to reach for me again. "Cathy, please, let me explain—"
"Explain?!" I shouted, stepping back and shoving his chest with everything I had. "What is there to explain?! You knew I was dying, Jasper! You knew my body was shutting down — that my blood, my bones, everything inside me was failing — and you said nothing!"
He swallowed hard, his own eyes glistening with tears. "I didn't want to lose you," he said softly. "I thought if I could just protect you from the truth… maybe—"
"Protect me?" I laughed bitterly, my voice shaking. "From what? From my own life? From my own death? You took away my right to know, Jasper. My right to prepare, to live what little time I have left the way I want!"
He stepped closer again, desperate, his voice breaking. "Yes, I knew! I knew, Cathy! But every time I looked at you, I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't bear to see the light in your eyes fade away. You were so full of hope… I didn't want to take that from you."
"You didn't protect me," I said, shaking my head violent
He swallowed hard, his own eyes glistening with tears. "I didn't want to lose you," he said softly. "I thought if I could just protect you from the truth… maybe—"
"Protect me?" I laughed bitterly, my voice shaking. "From what? From my own life? From my own death? You took away my right to know, Jasper. My right to prepare, to live what little time I have left the way I want!"
He stepped closer again, desperate, his voice breaking. "Yes, I knew! I knew, Cathy! But every time I looked at you, I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't bear to see the light in your eyes fade away. You were so full of hope… I didn't want to take that from you."
"You didn't protect me," I said, shaking my head violently. "You destroyed me. You watched me suffer — confused, weak, bleeding — and you kept quiet. You let me believe I was fine while I was dying slowly." My sobs came harder, rawer. "Do you know what that feels like, Jasper? To find out from a stranger that you only have six months left? To realize the man you love most has been lying to you every day?"
He tried to touch me, but I flinched back, clutching my chest as I sobbed. "I trusted you more than anyone. You were my comfort, my safety, my everything — and now, I don't even know who you are anymore."
"Cathy, please," he whispered, tears falling freely now. "I only did what I thought was best. I couldn't tell you. I didn't want to see you in pain."
"But you did," I whispered. "You're seeing it now, Jasper. You're seeing it now."
He tried to take my hand again, but I stepped back, trembling from anger and heartbreak.
"Get out," I said softly, wiping my tears.
"Cathy—"
"I said get out!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the house. "Just go! Please! I can't even look at you right now!"
He stood there for a long, unbearable silence — his chest heaving, his eyes begging for forgiveness I couldn't give. Then, slowly, he turned and walked away. I watched his back as he disappeared through the doorway, each step sounding like a crack in my chest.
When the door closed, the silence that followed was louder than any scream.
My knees gave out, and I fell to the floor, my body shaking uncontrollably. I buried my face in my hands as the sobs tore through me, loud and broken. The floor beneath me felt cold, but not as cold as the emptiness inside me.
"How could you, Jasper…" I whispered into the silence. "How could you keep something like this from me?"
My whole body trembled as I cried, the sound of my pain echoing through the house that once held laughter and love. The walls seemed to close in, the air too heavy to breathe.
And for the first time in a long time… I felt truly alone.
Not because death was coming — but because the man I loved most had already broken my heart long before it arrived.
"I just wish to spend my best days during my last days"😔😔
Watch out for the finale
To be continued...🥹🥹🥲
KÃRMZY 💋 💋 ❤️🩹
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