Love That Transcends Even Death

On my twenty-fifth birthday, I discovered my boyfriend of seven years and my best friend were having an affair.

They gave me matching necklaces-a sea and a mountain-the very set I had picked out for him as a symbol of our love. It was their silent confession, a confirmation of the betrayal I had just witnessed.

Later that night, my best friend was attacked. I rushed to her side, only to be met with my boyfriend's fury. He accused me of being selfish and late, then broke up with me, leaving me alone and bleeding in the snow after I coughed up blood from my terminal lung cancer.

He didn't see the blood. He didn't know I was dying. He just saw me as an inconvenience.

My world shattered. I had been hiding my illness to spare them pain, only to find they were building their happiness on my quiet suffering.

I received his call from the hospital, not out of concern for me, but because he had just discovered the truth about my cancer. He was too late.

I was already on a plane to Oregon, having sent my final message: "I love you both. Always. Find your happiness. I'll be okay." This was my last gift to them-their freedom, bought with my life.