This is the third time washing his sheets within the last couple days.

This is the third time today I hear him cry silently, asking me to just leave him rot. Saying I 'deserve a happy life with some other man'. A happy life with another that could give me the thing I've always wanted.

Children.

Of course I always tell him to hush as I assist him to the other bedroom.

The spare bedroom that was supposed to be for our child.

The perfect child I imagined us having.

Slowly, I help him slide onto the smaller twin bed with plain white sheets. He moans and groans as his fatigued and aching body moves subtly to get in a somewhat comfortable position.

Just as I am about to leave to wash the sheets once again, his large yet now quite frail hand finds mine sending me back to the time when I had first left him; him telling me that we didn't need children while I still mourned our non existent child as if I had miscarried.

"I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this for you." His apology is soft, so soft that I feel the tears stinging my eyes to be let free. I wipe them with my free hand as quickly as they spring loose.

"Get some rest, and I'll bring up some soup for you later." I feel a bit heartless for not fully accepting his apology, but I know he knows why it's hard for me to forgive.

I grew up having a father who left my mother and I for another woman, my first love only using me for money, and being kicked out of my friend group for not partaking in the wild party antics during my college years.

My forgiveness had dwindled down to almost being non existent, and is one of the reasons why I still can't forgive him or myself for not being able to have the family we've always wanted.

The painful memories of the day we found out he was infertile rush back as I walk into the master bedroom to retrieve the sheets and wash them.

He had looked so painstricken while I had wept in his arms, heartbroken.

My heart had become so broken that I lashed out. I became angry. So incredibly angry, that I brought it up to him every chance I could. I wanted him to feel my pain, my suffering; everything.

Little did I realize that he was going through heartache of his own.

When I left him, I hadn't realized how much pain, mentally and physically, he was in.

When he called me just a few days ago that he could no longer support himself and was instructed by his oncologist to stay in bed, I felt my hardened heart soften in pity.

The months I was away from him, he was trying to mend himself, but it only got worse as the non cancerous tumors within the linings of his colon turned deadly and he went from having a high risk of colorectal cancer to being at stage four of it; the worst stage.

His doctor had him going to chemotherapy and radiation therapy treatments, but with all his added stress, the cancer progressed into his liver and his body began shutting down.

He has been given only days to weeks to live.

The first night upon hearing this, I rushed to head straight for his place, bawling so hard that I nearly swerved into the oncoming traffic.

Although we had separated for almost a year, my love for him has never dissipated. I don't think it could ever.

"Darling." I could hear his faint voice call for me up the stairs, so after starting up the load of wash, I made my way back up to the spare bedroom where he was laying with his eyes closed. As if knowing I was there, he pointed to the closet door.

"There's a small stereo in there. Please bring it out and press the play button." He rarely ever gave me orders unless he needed his medication to dull the pain, so this surprised me.

"Yes. Of course." I walk over to the closet door, opening it and seeing the small stereo sitting on the ground. It was the only thing in here, which was odd since before I left, we had almost all our baby items stashed in it.

I grab it, placing it on the side table near the bed and press the small triangle button. Instantly, the first song from our playlist came on.

More than Words by Extreme.

Once it begins to play, he opens his eyes, looking at me with the same intensity and love he did when he first played the mixtape for me.

It was the night he had told me he loved me, making a promise to me that he would always care for and love me.

One minute I am standing, and the next, I am cuddled up beside him on the small twin bed, letting the hot tears flow.

After the third song from the mixtape plays, I feel his low, deep breaths, and the occasional snore resounding softly. He had fallen asleep soundly for the first time since I've been here.

Probably the first time in months.

I am about to get up and get the sheets from the washer to place in the dryer, but I succumb to the warmth radiating from his body, allowing my mind and body to shut down from reality.

My dreams warp things of the past with the present. For once I'm not dreaming or picturing what our children could have looked like. I'm simply dreaming of us. Of our time together and what it could be like.

As quickly as I sleep, it seems, I'm awaken by the rays of the sun shining through the pale, sheer curtains.

Stretching, I notice he is not beside me. Instantly , I bolt out of bed, heading towards the main bathroom, expecting him to be hurling into the toilet or something of that sort.

I'm shocked when I don't see him in there. Panic rises up in my chest as I fling down the stairs towards the living room and attached kitchen.

I don't see him in either room, and now I'm running out the front door, nearly yelling his name.

After going towards the back by the garden, screaming his name, I see him on the small bench, in the middle of the quaint garden we had started when we first moved into this house.

He looks up, pale cheeks becoming rosy as the sight of me becomes clearer to him.

He pats the seat next to him on the bench in the calmest manner.

After sitting and catching my breath, I watch as his eyes flutter around the garden, almost embracing the pleasant view of each and every petal on every single flower.

His light brown eyes study them, soaking each in as if it is the last time he will ever look at them.

"You should be in bed." These are the words the spill from my mouth as I take his hand.

He places his other hand on top of ours as he turns his gaze to me.

"I'm sorry."

I help him to his feet, feeling how much weight he has lost through this battle of his, and it shows how much he isn't winning it. 

I try to ignore the contrictedness I feel in my heart as I fully take in his ashen, hollow features that were once vibrant and full of such life. It's truly sad how a disease can do so much damage to a person.

Once I help him into the house, back up the stairs, and back into bed, I continue the house chores, and I also get him a bowl of soup from the can.

As I place the tray of food next to him on the bedside table, displacing the stereo, that was placed there prior, onto the floor, he grabs my hand.

I watch as a single tear falls before he hoarsely says, "every night you were gone I played our songs. I played it every night hoping I'd see you walk through that front door."

He takes a couple breaths, trying to keep his composure before speaking again.

"W-when I'm gone from the Earth... please listen to the mixtape. Listen to every word."

"James don't talk like this-" I try to interject but he stops me.

"Anne, please. I know and you know that I won't last much longer. I've come to terms with it. I-I just want you to continue life happily, and if you ever get the chance... w-when you listen to the mixtape...remember how much I loved you then, how much I love you now... and how much I will love you for eternity."

I didn't realize I have started crying until I notice him sitting up more to wipe the tears straying from my eyes. He holds my face in his hands for a bit longer before his beautiful smile takes over.

"I love you, James."

"And I love you, Anne." He doesn't hesitate before lightly pressing his lips to mine.

I missed his lips, his soft hands, the way he smiles in between our kisses. I missed him so much.

We pull apart slightly, our eyes speaking so much of what we can't even put into words. I release his hold to play the stereo with the mixtape still in place.

Crawling into the bed with him, we snuggle up next to each other, listening to some songs while humming and singing along to others. At some point we softly speak about practically everything as our songs play in the background.

I don't know how much of the day seems to pass, but I don't care since I'm in the place where I'd love to be forever.

I'm with my family.

My lover.

My heart.

And, of course, our mixtape playing our songs over and over, lulling me into a blissful sleep.

I can't picture anything better than this.