A thin manila folder sat tucked between the frame and the springs.
I lifted the mattress higher.
I pulled it out with shaking hands and pressed my back against the wall.
The bathroom door was still shut.
Water ran on the other side.
I opened the folder.
The first page was a lab report with Ben's name at the top.
My eyes dropped straight to the conclusion.
I opened the folder.
No evidence of malignancy.
I frowned.
That couldn't be right.
I turned the page.
Another report.
Different date, same result.
The nurse's message was starting to make sense, but nothing explained why Ben was lying to me or what exactly he was planning.
Nothing explained why Ben was lying to me
Healthy bloodwork.
No sign of cancer.
The dates were only weeks old.
Weeks after we'd been told he was dying.
I read the words over and over until they blurred together.
If Ben wasn't dying… then why were we getting married in a hospital?
We'd been told he was dying.
Why had the doctors told us he only had months to live?
Why was he pretending to be a dying man?
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and photographed the reports as quickly as I could.
There were more papers underneath.
I was about to look at them when the bathroom faucet stopped running.
My heart lurched.
My time was up.
There were more papers underneath.
I slid everything back exactly where I found it and smoothed the sheet.
The toilet flushed.
I grabbed the water pitcher off Ben's tray and pretended to pour.
Ben shuffled out, IV pole clicking beside him.
"Are you sure you're okay, baby?" he asked. "You look a little green."
"I'm fine," I said. "I told you, I'm just tired."
