Chapter 1

Ariella

"Unrequited love"—a term I once thought I understood, but its true meaning only became painfully clear after I met Damien. He was my first love, the kind that sweeps you off your feet and consumes every part of you. He wasn’t just the first man I loved; he might be the only one I ever truly will. But my feelings for him were like shouting into a void—desperate, unrelenting, always met with silence. His heart was never mine, not even for a moment. Loving him felt like chasing sunlight, always out of reach, no matter how much I yearned, no matter how hard I tried. It wasn’t just one-sided; it was a slow, suffocating ache, a heartbreak that only I carried.

He always had someone else—a shadow I could never compete with. I think I always knew it, deep down, even from the very beginning. But I refused to face the truth. I clung to the hope that if I loved him enough, eventually he would love me back. It wasn’t just denial—it was desperation, a hunger for something I could never truly have. I convinced myself that I could change his heart, that somehow I could become the woman he needed. But I was wrong. His love was never mine to claim, not even for a fleeting moment.

Now, I lie here, alone on this cold, empty bed, counting the shallow breaths that echo in the quiet room. There’s no hand to hold, no comforting voice to offer solace. Perhaps the world was right all along—greed has a way of dragging you into darkness, leaving you with nothing but regret. I thought I was chasing love, but in truth, I was chasing shadows, blind to the emptiness it would leave behind. Now, as the end draws near, I can’t help but wonder if this is my punishment—a lonely farewell for a love that was never mine to claim.

They say when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes—images of the happiest moments, a montage of joy. But that’s not how it’s going for me. Instead of laughter and warmth, I’m confronted with shadows—the mistakes I made, the regrets that have gnawed at me over the years. Every wound, every failure, every heartbreak replays in my mind, refusing to let me forget. There’s no light in this montage, no comforting peace, only the relentless weight of the things I can’t change.

The biggest regret is clear now—the way I turned my back on the people who truly cared for me, the ones who offered love without asking for anything in return, while I wasted my heart chasing after someone who couldn’t have cared less. I see their faces now—the friends I ignored, the family I took for granted. I pushed them aside, convinced that they weren’t enough, while all along, they were the ones who truly loved me.

And then there’s the irony of it all. The people I should  have loved, the ones who would have given me the kind of affection I craved, never stood a chance. I chased after people who couldn’t see me, who never gave me more than crumbs, while the ones who would have given me everything were waiting in the wings, unnoticed and unappreciated. It's a bitter realization, one I can’t undo, and it stings more than any wound.

If I had the chance to do it over, to make things right, I would. I would love differently. I would love the people who showed me kindness and not take them for granted. I would cherish them, let them know they mattered to me—truly mattered. I would make sure they knew that their love wasn’t wasted on someone who couldn’t see it at the time. But I can’t now. That chance has slipped away, like so much else.

Months ago, I was diagnosed with cancer, and since then, my life has become a long, grueling battle. It’s drained me—physically, emotionally, and mentally. I’ve fought this disease alone, each day harder than the last, each breath a struggle. There’s been no one to lean on, no one to share the weight of it all. I’ve faced it with nothing but the hollow silence of my own thoughts. Now, as I reach the end, I wonder if it was all in vain. I can’t change anything. The chance to make amends is gone, buried beneath the relentless march of time and illness.

Damien Thomson, my ex-husband, never once showed his face after our divorce. It was as if I had never existed in his world at all. The only traces of him I have are through photos—images of him with Sofia Quinn, the woman he now calls the love of his life. Seeing them together stirs something in me, but it’s not jealousy. It’s a dull ache, a quiet resignation. He’s moved on completely, while I’m still here, haunted by the memories of what we once shared. The love I thought would last forever now feels like a distant illusion, something I can only look at from afar, like a dream I can never revisit.

Sometimes I wish I had never loved him. If I could go back, I would erase every feeling, every moment I spent wrapped up in him. I would guard my heart against the lie of love he once offered. I would choose a different path, one where my heart wasn’t tangled with his, where I could have healed without carrying the weight of what never truly was. I would avoid the pain, the heartbreak, the endless "what-ifs." I would build a life free of his shadow, one where I could move forward, unburdened by a love that was never really mine to keep.

And now, as I close my eyes for the final time, I can feel the weight lift. The long battle is over. There’s no pain anymore, no regret, no longing. Just peace. For the first time in so long, there’s no ache, no noise. Only silence, a quiet I’ve longed for. As I take my last breath, I finally surrender, letting go of everything—every regret, every unspoken word. And for the first time, it feels like I’m free.

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