The Luckiest Man in the World

"You tried to make me hate you," she said.

He was getting tired again. He tried to sleep as much as the pain would let him. "Because I love you," he explained.

She was crying inconsolably as he drifted off to sleep, the energy of talking too much.

Alan woke a few hours later, and they were still waiting with him. The pain was almost intolerable. He reached for the button, then stopped. He needed to be clearheaded.

"He's awake," he heard Josh say, then they were standing around him again.

Alan reached for his wife's hand, and felt her soft skin against his once more. "I love you, Becca. I always have. I'm sorry I cheated on you. Please forgive me," he pleaded. The tears that the pain of his wracked body couldn't force out, came easily.

"Oh, Alan!" she cried. "Stop this. Let me take you home. We'll find better doctors. We can beat this."

It was too late for that, but he nodded. "I'd like that."

The kids gave him cards, which he had Becca read to him, and Carrie placed a stuffed animal pair in his arms. "You are the best Dad in the world," she told him, kissing his emaciated cheek, her tears spilling over onto his skin.

Another jolt of pain shattered his body, and he pressed the button that would allow more of the painkiller to enter his veins. He hated them to see him like this. Weak.

Alan reached out to the table beside him, and picked up the folded piece of paper. He handed it to Becca. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby," he said. He smiled for her and closed his eyes.

Becca looked at the handmade card. The front had a poorly drawn heart colored in red. His and her initials were in it, with the TLF underneath, True Love Forever, just like they'd carved into the tree in Battery Park after he'd proposed.

She opened it and read his awkward, shaky hand-writing.

"To Becca, my first, last and only true love. Thank you for 25 perfect years. I am the luckiest man in the world, to have had your love. I love you. Your husband, Alan."

She rubbed the tears from her eyes, and hugged him, crying, telling him she loved him and always would.

My heart was breaking. I'd cheated on her. I hated it. Hated what I had to do. Forcing her out of my life, trying to make her hate me. I knew it would be difficult, I had no way of knowing just how devastating.

The pains were becoming more frequent. Out of nowhere, the agony would paralyze me. The pills helped. Almost every day I had to suffer through a period of the blinding pain.

She had stopped. Stopped her one outlet, harmless dancing, a way of making her feel young again, naughty. I'd watched her twice, dancing with the different men, never more than a couple of times with each. Turning them away, not letting them sit with her, refusing any drinks. The girls worked together, most of them behaving similarly except that skank Margie. She was the only single one, so I guess I shouldn't hold it against her.

Lying in bed beside her, I gazed at that body. Mine and mine alone for 25 years. I knew every inch of it, better than I knew my own.

I couldn't help myself. I had promised myself that I would hold out, keep away. For the good of the plan. It was no use. I could smell her, feel the warmth emanating from her. She'd come to bed naked, for the first time in months.

I reached for her, my hand on her shoulder. She didn't move, didn't pull away, didn't turn toward me. I eased closer, my hand gliding down her side, my lips pressing against her shoulder. I kissed my way to her neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly.

"Me too." I nibbled her ear, and she turned toward me.

I was aching for her, and when I felt between her legs, her desire and need was obvious.

I eased her onto her back, climbing above her.

"What's going to happen to us?" she asked.

I hushed her, scared to death I was going to ruin everything. There was no way I could hide my love for her. I slid inside of her, and she whimpered softly.

I made love to her in silence, our bodies working in perfect harmony. I stared into her eyes, my love for her in danger of destroying my careful plan.

I needed her to know. One last time. My last time ever with the love of my life, the perfect wife, the mother of my children. I wish it were otherwise. It was unfair, but I had accepted it. I'd had the best 25 years anyone could ask for.

She was everything to me. I would be gone within 6 months. Terminal. Inoperable. I couldn't take her down with me. She deserved so much more.

She had too much to offer. Too big a heart. She had to have a chance to move on, to be happy, never to have to worry about money.

God, I loved her! Why me?

I shoved the pain down, sliding in and out of that magical warm, wet opening, she'd shared with me, only me, for over 25 years.

And I had cheated on her.

I prayed in time she could forgive me.

Once again I wondered if I was doing the right thing. As painful as it was, it still seemed the best option. I'd take the blame. Let me be the bad guy. As long as she was taken care of.

I stared into her eyes, and saw the love there. Still. After all I'd done so far. It was going to be difficult to kill that light. I hated doing it. Hated myself.

She was responding, eyelids fluttering, mouth open, those sounds I knew so well escaping her lips. I adjusted my hips grinding at the end of each stroke. I had her, and I stretched it out, keeping her on edge, while I reached my own peak.

I was close, and concentrated on her, pushing her to crest, gazing into that beautiful face, feeling her response. As she peaked, I drove inside of her for one last perfect time, matching her need, timing it perfectly, making her come for me, as I finished inside of her.

She came down slowly, gasping. She stared back into my eyes, and I saw the love fighting with the fear.

"Alan..."

"Shh. I know. Me too." I shouldn't have even said that much.

I laid beside her, holding her. One last time, for the rest of my life. That was the hardest part. Never being able to hold her again.

I felt her breath slow, as she relaxed in my arms. So perfect.

I couldn't stop it. The tears rolled down my cheeks, as I remembered all the times we'd had. 25 years. It seemed so short now. I had accepted it. Any one year with her was worth it all. I was being called home, but I couldn't complain.

For twenty five years I'd had it all. The dream. The perfect life. I was the luckiest man in the world.

I prayed she had at least twenty five more. I would wait for her. Forever. I had promised.

The luckiest man in the world never woke again.

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Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it, even if it's not the most typical love story. It's part of the Valentine's Day competition so I'd appreciate the vote if you can spare the time. Your comments are always more than welcome.