Siempre le decía a mi novio cuanto lo amaba. Pero cuando esa enfermedad terminal apareció hace 4

I always told my boyfriend how much I loved him. But when that terminal illness appeared four years ago, I had to leave him so I could live my life. Three months ago, I found out through a post from his mother that he had miraculously recovered and was now in love with his nurse. That's not fair. I'm supposed to be the love of his life. They should have let me know he was well so I could come back. When I saw the photo of Samuel hugging that woman in a white uniform, smiling in front of the hospital where I stopped going, I felt something I don't know if it was relief or a stab in the ego. The post spoke of a miracle, of remission, of a second chance, of someone who "never left his side," and that wasn't me. I knew it in seconds, reading Pilar's name in hundreds of congratulatory comments, while my name didn't even exist. My face burned thinking that everyone was celebrating a life that, in my mind, was still reserved for me when the storm passed. And all I could keep telling myself was that it wasn't fair, that someone should have told me she wasn't dying anymore so I could take my place again. 0:00 Main Story 10:35 Comments 12:54 Update 1 16:42 Update 1 Comments 18:55 Update 2 23:25 Update 2 Comments 25:31 Update 3 29:11 Update 3 Comments 31:23 Update 4 35:07 Update 4 Comments 37:22 Update 5 41:54 Update 5 Comments