Nella knew something was wrong. She couldn’t explain how—just that deep, gnawing ache in her gut that whispered: *He’s hiding something.* Her husband Eric had become a ghost in their home—physically present, emotionally absent.
And then, one quiet evening, the truth began to unravel. He stood in the doorway, his eyes clouded with something she couldn’t name.
“I need space,” he said softly. “Time… to think.” The words hit like a thunderclap. *Twelve years of marriage. Twelve.* Of Sunday breakfasts, shared glances, small laughs in the middle of chaos. Of raising kids, building a life, trusting each other with everything. And now?
Now he wanted “space.” “For how long?” she asked, voice tight. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t anger that shook her—it was fear. The unknown. *Was there someone else? Was he leaving for good?* But instead of throwing accusations,
Nella offered something she never thought she would. “You can stay in the guesthouse by the pool,” she said, her voice trembling. “Or the spare room. Just… don’t leave us completely.” Eric gave a faint smile—an empty one—and nodded.
That night, he packed a small bag, kissed her on the forehead like a stranger… and walked out. For ten nights, he disappeared. Every evening after dinner, he’d leave without a word. And every morning, he returned—looking paler, thinner,
like he hadn’t slept. His clothes smelled of car interiors, not perfume. His eyes were heavy with something more than guilt. Something like grief. “Where do you go?” Nella asked more than once, desperation rising.
“Trust me,” he’d whisper. “It’s not what you think.” But how could she trust a man who kept vanishing into the night? On the fifth night, her fear turned into resolve. She followed him. She stayed several car lengths behind,
hands clammy on the steering wheel, heart pounding like a drum. He pulled into the park—a place they used to take the kids to when they were small. He parked. And then… nothing. For hours, he just sat in the car.
No one joined him. He didn’t get out. He simply stared at his phone, sometimes holding a small recorder, sometimes speaking softly to no one. It made no sense.
On the tenth night, she couldn’t take it anymore.
She drove up beside him, knocked on the car window. Eric jolted in surprise, eyes wide and rimmed with exhaustion. “Nella?” he said, voice raspy. “What’s going on, Eric?” she cried. “You sleep in this car every night—why?
Are you cheating? Are you leaving us?” “No,” he said instantly. “There’s no one else. I swear.” “Then what is it?” Her voice cracked. “Please. Tell me.” Eric looked away. His hands trembled as he reached into the back seat, pulling out a few notebooks and an old voice recorder.
“I wasn’t ready to tell you,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to burden you.” “Burden me with *what*?” He closed his eyes. Took a breath. Then looked at her, raw and open. “I have cancer.” The world stopped. The air thinned.
“They found a tumor. It’s advanced. The prognosis… isn’t good.” Nella couldn’t breathe. Her knees buckled, but she caught herself on the door. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you or the kids to live under that shadow. I come here to record my voice, tell stories… memories. For the kids. For you. For after.” And just like that, everything fell into place. He wasn’t running from them.
He was running toward the only legacy he could leave behind: love, preserved in sound.
She threw her arms around him. Held him like she’d never let go. “You’re not doing this alone,” she said. “Not anymore.”
The months that followed were a slow dance with time. Painful, precious, beautiful. Eric told bedtime stories like they were treasures. He laughed louder, hugged tighter, and lived more in those few months than he had in years.
Then came winter. The day he slipped away, the house felt unbearably still. Cold. But days later, Nella found his recorder on the nightstand. With trembling fingers, she pressed play. “There once was a princess,” Eric’s voice began, warm and gentle.
“She was brave. Smarter than all the knights in the land. And she had the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever known…” Nella broke down in tears. “The princess met an ordinary man. Not a king. Not a hero. Just a man.
But from the moment he saw her, he knew—his life would never be the same.” Eric’s voice cracked slightly, then softened like a final embrace. “And if you’re hearing this, my love… it means I’m no longer there. But please remember:
you were my fairytale. You gave me magic. And though I’m gone, your story must go on.”
Nella clutched the recorder to her chest. In that voice, in those words, she found strength.
And whenever the world feels too heavy, she presses play—bringing Eric back to life, one story at a time.
