Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 500

“Stewart!”

Cedric Clarke finally lost it and shouted, “Can you stop being so damned negative? Dr. Riley said if you’d just stay in Switzerland for treatment, there’s still a chance—”

“A five percent chance.” Stewart looked at him, dark eyes bleak. “That’s too low, Cedric. Don’t try to talk me into it anymore. Just let me leave with some dignity.”

Cedric stared at him, stunned.

“I want to go with some dignity. If the pain gets too much at the end, I’ll apply for assisted dying in Switzerland. Carl Shaw will handle everything after I’m gone—no funeral, just a simple cremation. I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to scatter my ashes over Pearbrook. It’s close to Bryn’s new place…”

“Stewart, shut up!” Cedric exploded, voice raw and furious. “To hell with your funeral plans! The minute I sort things out here, I’m hauling you back to Switzerland and handing you over to Dr. Riley. You’re going to get treatment, whether you like it or not!”

Stewart’s lips twitched into a faint, resigned smile as he met Cedric’s glare.

“This is the best I can hope for, Cedric. Please, just this once, help me with what I’m asking.”

Cedric froze, unable to process what he was hearing. He stared at Stewart in disbelief.

This was Stewart—once so proud and unyielding, now hollowed out by illness, his spirit battered by regret. He’d always seemed larger than life, but now, half-reclining on the wide bed, he looked fragile, helpless.

In Cedric’s memory, Stewart had never asked anyone for anything. He was the proudest man he knew. Even that dark summer years ago—when his own mother, Fiona, manipulated and abandoned him—he’d never begged, never lowered himself.

But now Stewart was begging him. Begging him not to push for that five percent chance.

Begging for help to end things on his own terms.

Cedric’s thoughts spun; before he could even speak, his eyes started to burn.

Cedric’s breath caught in his throat. “So you know all that, but now—why—”

“We’re divorced now.” Stewart’s smile was bitter, fleeting. “She won’t be a widow. I’ll just die of illness, and it won’t have anything to do with her.”

Cedric dragged a hand over his face, teeth clenched, at a total loss for words. Furious, desperate, he could only curse, “You’re out of your mind. Completely insane.”

Stewart shut his eyes, a faint, sorrowful curve touching his lips.

“The truth is, I should’ve died when I was eight.”

His voice lingered in the vast, quiet bedroom.

“These extra years… I suppose I was living on borrowed time.”