It’s incredible how quickly a life can be turned upside down, and how many secrets one person can carry. Seven years. That’s how long I’ve been battling my terminal cancer diagnosis, a fight I’ve mostly waged in silence. And then, just when I thought I had made peace with my fate, Sherman, my childhood love, re-entered my world, only to twist the knife deeper. My heart shattered into a million pieces the moment he cruelly mocked my inability to walk, completely oblivious to the truth – the agonizing truth that my body was failing me, day by day. I’ve become an expert at hiding things. The needle marks on my arms, the constant fatigue, the excuses for my worsening condition. Each day was a performance, a desperate attempt to appear normal, even as my world crumbled. It felt like a cruel joke when Sherman, with his new girlfriend by his side, mockingly invited me to be her bridesmaid. All I could think to say was that I was “going somewhere very far away soon.” It was the closest I could get to telling him without breaking my promise, or simply breaking down. This isn't the first time Sherman's mother has played a part in our lives. Seven years ago, when I first received my diagnosis, she approached me with a desperate plea. She wanted me to break up with Sherman, to stage a betrayal, so he would leave the country and focus on his studies abroad. I was to pretend to kiss another boy, ensuring Sherman would 'catch' us. I became, unknowingly, a 'breakup specialist' for his future, sacrificing my own happiness for what she claimed was his. It was a promise I made, to protect him from my illness and her manipulation, but it cost me everything. The irony now is crushing – she's back, asking me to avoid Sherman again, to let his new girlfriend be his 'perfect match' and to ensure he never discovers the truth about our past or my current state. It’s like being asked to disappear all over again, to erase myself for their convenience. My mother's fury, slamming those adult diapers onto my bed, is a vivid memory that perfectly encapsulates the raw despair of our situation. She cried, invoking Sherman's name as a lifeline, a reason to fight. But the fight was already lost. I made a promise not to tell Sherman the truth, a promise born of love and a strange sense of duty. But I couldn't promise not to see him. Even through seven years of cancer, he was always there, a flicker of hope, a painful memory. This story, unfolding on MotoNovel under ID 310429, is my catharsis, my way of finally sharing the untold struggles and the heartbreaking decisions that shaped my life, and the lives of Nina and Sherman.