I never thought I would hear from my ex-wife again.
Not after she walked away six years ago, leaving behind a two-year-old daughter and a husband who had begged her to stay. Not after she vanished into the world, sending nothing but a yearly postcard and a stuffed animal, as if that was enough to make up for her absence.
“I can’t do this, Kian,” she had said, taking her jacket off the coat hook. She glanced at Kylie, our baby girl, then back at me. “But you can.”
And then she was gone.
So when I got a message from her, my stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Hey! Remember me? Doctors say I’ll be gone soon. It’s terminal. I just wanted to see you one last time. And Kylie. Please, let me!
The text felt surreal.
I had moved on. I was happily remarried now, raising my daughter, Kylie, and my baby boy, Jake, with my amazing second wife, Lillian. Our life was full of bedtime stories, baby giggles, and a warmth I thought I’d never have again after Marissa left.
But how do you say no to a dying person?
Can you?
So, I agreed to meet her.
She chose a small café, and when I arrived, she was already there, stirring a cup of coffee with a steady hand. Too steady for someone who was supposedly dying.
I sat across from her, unsure of what to say.
“So… how long do you have, Marissa? When did you find out? Are you sure about the diagnosis?” I asked.
“Stage four. Could be weeks, could be months. Who really knows, Kian? But it’s been hard, you know?” she said, her voice soft.
I nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy.
“I’m sorry. Truly.”
Sure, I didn’t care for Marissa. But I had loved her once. And she had given me Kylie. That was enough to make me feel something.
She reached for my hand, but I pulled back instinctively.
“That’s why I wanted to see you,” she continued. “And Kylie. I need to see her, hold her. Just once…”
I hesitated.
“Look, Marissa, you do know that Kylie barely remembers you, right? You left when she was two.”
Her face fell for a brief moment, but then she forced a smile.
“But she got my gifts, right? The teddy bears? Doesn’t she know me as the favorite person who sent her toys?”
I nearly laughed. Favorite person? The teddy bears? The once-a-year, guilt-ridden offerings that Kylie never played with?
“She got them,” I said flatly.
“I just… I just want to see her, Kian,” she pressed. “I want to say goodbye. I may have left, but I made her too, Kian. I carried her. My body did the work. So I get to see her, and I get to say goodbye.”
I exhaled. I didn’t want her around my daughter, but I didn’t see a way out.
“Fine. But you follow my rules.”
She nodded eagerly.
I didn’t realize then that I had just made a terrible mistake.
The next evening, the doorbell rang. Lillian and I exchanged a look—we weren’t expecting anyone. We were making ice cream sandwiches with the kids.
“I’ll get it,” I said. “But don’t eat without me!”
Kylie giggled.
I opened the door, and a massive teddy bear blocked my view. Then, a too-cheerful voice rang out.
“Surprise!”
I nearly slammed the door in her face.
“What the hell, Marissa?” I hissed.
“I wanted to see Kylie. You said I could,” she beamed, pushing past me.
Before I could stop her, Kylie came skipping down the hall. She paused when she saw Marissa.
“Hi, Kylie! It’s me, your mom!” Marissa said, almost giddy.
Kylie just stared at her, then turned to me.
“Daddy, who is she? Who is this lady?”
Marissa’s face crumbled.
Lillian, holding Jake, stepped in smoothly.
“Kylie, sweetheart, why don’t you finish your coloring? We’ll talk in a bit, okay?”
“What about our ice cream sandwiches?” Kylie asked, eyes wide.
“Later, sweet girl,” Lillian said gently.
Kylie nodded and ran back to her room.
Marissa forced a laugh. “Kids, right?”
I should have thrown her out then. Instead, I let her stay for dinner.
Over the next week, Marissa met Kylie at the park a few times. We never told Kylie about the cancer. Why confuse her when she barely recognized this woman as her mother?
Then Marissa dropped another bombshell.
“The doctors reassessed my condition,” she said dramatically. “It’s a miracle, Kian! There’s a chance I can live!”
I blinked. What the hell?
“That’s… great?” I said.
“Well, it depends on the medication. There’s a new trial. But it’s expensive.”
Here it comes.
“How much?”
“$20,000.”
I exhaled sharply. “That’s a lot, Marissa.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But Kian, please…”
Lillian, ever the kind soul, looked at me with soft, sympathetic eyes. “Maybe we can…”
And we almost did.
But that night, Kylie walked into our room, holding the teddy bear Marissa had given her.
She looked serious. Too serious.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “She’s lying.”
“What do you mean, sweet pea?” I asked.
Kylie pressed the bear’s stomach. A distorted voice crackled.
“I’ll get the money soon! And you owe me a drink!”
My heart stopped. I grabbed the bear and found a tiny hidden recorder inside.
I rewound it. Marissa’s voice filled the room.
“Yeah, I told Kian it was stage four. And he totally bought it. He was practically crying at the restaurant. Twenty grand just for some fake tears.”
Lillian gasped. Kylie looked at me, eyes filled with betrayal.
Marissa had recorded herself gloating. And then handed Kylie her own confession.
“I told you, she’s not my mom,” Kylie said.
The next day, I texted Marissa.
I have the money. Come get it.
She showed up in minutes. Kylie handed her an envelope, thick with notes.
Marissa’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you, my dearest girl! This means so much…”
“Before you open it,” I said, “listen to this.”
I pressed play.
Her own voice filled the room.
Marissa turned ghostly white. “That’s not me! Someone doctored that—”
She tore open the envelope. Inside was $20,000… of Monopoly money.
It was Kylie’s idea.
“If she’s fake sick, let’s give her fake money,” she had said, face set with determination.
Marissa’s face twisted in rage. “You can’t do this to me!”
“You did it to yourself,” Lillian said coldly. “Now get out. And never come back.”
As she stormed off, I turned to Kylie.
“You saved us, sweet pea. And our money.”
“She didn’t deserve it, Daddy. Didn’t you say people have to earn money?”
She was right.
Marissa didn’t deserve us.
Our family was whole. Without her.
