I married a terminally ill man because it was his last wish – After his funeral, his lawyer knocked on my door and said, “He made me wait until today to tell you who he really was. »

I married a dying man to fulfill his last wish. Ten days later, I stood by his coffin, holding the covenant that he had not had the strength to pass on my finger. That night, his lawyer came up with something Carl had forbidden him to reveal in his lifetime – something that would forever be etched in my memory.

Three times a week, I volunteered in a palliative care support program.

Most patients asked for simple things.

A hot meal.

Clean sheets.

Someone who will keep them company.

Carl wanted to play Scrabble.

He was forty years old, was soaked by treatment and lived alone in a small house full of books. On my first visit, he pointed the finger tray before I even removed my coat.

“You know how to play?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you cheating?”

“Only when it is necessary.”

He briefly observed me.

“We could get along.”

And that was the case.

—

I brought soup, made the dishes and made tea.

Soon, Carl seemed to remember every little detail I loved.

At first, I thought he was just an observer.

Later, I realized that he did not learn these details.

He memorized them.

Carl had stage four cancer.

He never claimed that the treatments were healing him. He simply refused to let the disease take over.

Every time the pain interrupted a conversation, he waited for it to pass, and then picked up exactly where he left off.

Except once.

We were playing Scrabble when he tried to tell me about a teacher he had once admired. His mouth opened, but the words did not come.

The disease had begun to affect his speech. The more he tried, the more his sentence seemed blocked.

Carl grabbed the edge of the table.

I turned to the window.

“Did I tell you what happened at work yesterday? »

He shook his head.

I embarked on a incredible story: another volunteer had locked herself by accident in the cupboard with supplies. I added more and more absurd details until Carl relaxed.

When I was finished, he smiled.

“You did it on purpose,” he said softly.

“Do what?”

“Nothing.”

He looked down at the game board, a thoughtful calm sitting on his face.

I didn’t understand why.

A week later, I arrived and found him wearing a blue ironed shirt.

A small velvet box was placed next to his tea.

“Carl?”

“Marry me, Selena,” he said.

I almost dropped my shopping bag.

He gave me a tired smile.