Aline had loved Marc since their teenage years. Together, they had weathered poverty, instability, and the endless postponement of dreams. But nothing could have prepared them for the cruelest trial: Marc’s sudden illness.

It started with a simple fatigue, then mysterious pains, and finally a devastating diagnosis. The doctors were clear: treatment would be long, expensive, and exhausting.

Aline did not hesitate.

She worked double shifts, took weekend jobs, lived on the bare minimum, and gave every cent she earned to Marc’s mother, trusting her to care for him, to buy the necessary medications, to follow the medical instructions meticulously.

Aline worked. Survived. Hoped.

On the phone, Marc sounded distant, tired, his words short and lifeless. She told herself it was the illness talking, the burden of disease sapping his spirit.

But a gnawing doubt began to grow inside her.

One rainy evening, after an exhausting shift, Aline decided — she would visit them without announcing her arrival.

She bought fresh fruit — Marc’s favorites — and walked through the cold rain, her heart beating anxiously.

As she approached the house, laughter reached her ears.

Not weak or sickly laughter, but loud, hearty, carefree laughter.

She froze for a moment before knocking.

Marc’s mother opened the door, visibly startled and immediately annoyed.

— What are you doing here? — she snapped, not bothering with a greeting.

Without answering, Aline stepped inside.

The scene that met her eyes shattered her.

Marc was sitting at a large table surrounded by family and friends, laughing, eating, drinking. Plates of food covered the table, bottles of wine glistened under the lights. Music played in the background, creating an atmosphere of celebration — not of sickness.

Aline stood frozen in the doorway.

Marc saw her and stiffened, his smile faltering.

— Aline… I thought you were working…

The bag of fruit slipped from her fingers. Apples rolled across the floor.

— What is this? — her voice cracked under the weight of disbelief.

Marc’s mother shrugged indifferently.

— He’s fine. Been fine for months. You wanted him healthy, right? So, here he is.

Aline felt her heart sinking.

— And the money? My salary? Every paycheck I handed over?

The older woman chuckled.

— You kept giving it. No one forced you. We had to live too, didn’t we?

Marc looked away, silent, ashamed — or perhaps just cowardly.

In that moment, Aline understood.

The months she had spent working herself to the bone, believing in sacrifice, in loyalty, had been nothing but a cruel illusion.

Her love had been exploited.

Her sacrifices ridiculed.

Her trust betrayed.

Without a word, she turned and left.

Outside, the rain poured harder, soaking her to the bone. But she didn’t feel the cold.

Each raindrop seemed to cleanse another piece of the pain from her skin.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But she knew one thing for certain.

She would never walk through that door again.

And she would never again allow anyone to trample her heart.

From that night onward, Aline promised herself something greater than survival: she would rebuild her life from the ashes of betrayal — stronger, wiser, and truly free.