After the divorce, I was about to throw away my ex-wife’s old pillow—until I found what she had hidden inside and broke down in tears, finally understanding why she let me go.

Stage II.
Stage III.
Chemotherapy sessions.
Radiation schedules.

Dates.

Two years ago.

Two years.

Two years since he grew distant.
Two years since he stopped asking for affection.
Two years since he suddenly became “careful” with money.

I couldn’t breathe.

“No… this can’t be real,” I whispered.

My hands found the notebook.

On the first page—his handwriting.

“If you’re reading this, Mark, then I’m no longer at home.