Dear Diary,
He finally said it.
The word I've been dreading.
The word I've danced around in every entry.
The word that's hovered above us like a cloud made of silence and fear.
Cancer.
Stage four.
Incurable.
Terminal.
And the way he said it… not like a confession.
But like an apology.
As if telling me the truth meant taking something from me.
But he didn't.
He gave me what I already knew — just in his voice this time, not mine.
And still…
It broke me.
1:01 PM
He texted me last night.
Jung-Kyo: "Come over tomorrow. I need to tell you something."
I knew.
I knew the second I read it that this wasn't another half-truth.
This wasn't one of the soft lies he whispered to keep me safe.
This was the end of pretending.
The end of waiting.
The end of not knowing.
I didn't sleep much.
Kept watching the clock.
Kept rewriting every possible version of what he might say.
But nothing prepared me for the way it felt to hear it out loud.
2:33 PM
He opened the door before I could knock.
He looked calm.
Not peaceful. But resigned.
Like someone who'd finally stopped holding in a scream.
He stepped aside, let me in.
Didn't touch me.
Didn't smile.
The apartment was quiet.
Sunlight filtered in through the curtains like a soft warning.
I sat on the edge of the couch.
He stood for a moment, then slowly lowered himself into the chair across from me.
And said nothing.
Until he did.
2:47 PM
"I lied to you," he said.
I didn't speak.
"I've been lying for weeks."
I nodded.
He looked at the floor.
"They found it a month ago."
Still, I waited.
"It started in my stomach. Or maybe my pancreas. They weren't sure. But now…
it's everywhere."
His voice didn't break.
But mine did.
"Stage four?" I asked.
He nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered.
He looked up at me then.
And I will never forget the way his eyes looked.
Not scared.
Not even sad.
Just… gutted.
"Because I didn't want to be the tragedy in your life."
"You're not," I said. "You're the love of it."
He closed his eyes.
And the first tear fell.
3:16 PM
He told me everything after that.
The appointments.
The bloodwork.
The doctor who couldn't meet his gaze when saying the word inoperable.
He told me about the weight loss.
The fatigue.
The nights he sat alone in the bathroom, coughing until he saw red.
"I didn't want you to see me like that," he said.
"I wanted to be strong."
"You were," I whispered.
"No," he said. "I was scared."
"Scared is strong too."
He reached for my hand then.
Held it like it was the last thread keeping him here.
"I didn't want to spend our time talking about death."
"So you gave me silence instead."
He nodded.
And I didn't know if I wanted to hug him or break something.
But I stayed still.
Because this was not my pain alone to carry.
4:02 PM
"I thought if I could just hold out," he said, "if I could just keep it secret a little
longer, we could be normal. Just for a while."
"And now?"
He looked at me.
"I don't want to lie anymore."
The air felt too thin.
The light too bright.
My skin too tight around my bones.
"Are you… are you dying?" I asked.
He didn't flinch.
"Yes."
And the world cracked.
4:38 PM
We didn't cry together.
Not yet.
I cried later.
He just held my hand.
Looked at me like he was trying to memorize everything.
I told him, "I would've stayed no matter what."
"I know," he said.
"But I'm not giving up," he added quickly. "I'm doing what I can. Meds.
Appointments. But the doctors…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
I nodded.
And then leaned forward.
Put my forehead to his.
And whispered, "We'll face it together."
He shook his head.
"I don't want you to watch me disappear."
"I don't care," I said.
"I do."
"Well, too late," I snapped.
He pulled back, startled.
And I broke.
"You don't get to decide for me," I said, voice trembling. "You don't get to protect
me from this. You don't get to vanish while I pretend I'm not watching."
"Mi-Chan…"
"No. You said you didn't want to be a tragedy. But you are. And so am I. Because
we don't get to finish this. We don't get the years. The coffee shop dates. The
birthdays. The dumb fights over nothing."
I was shaking.
He looked like he wanted to hold me.
But I didn't let him.
"I love you," I said. "And you're dying. And I hate that. And I'm still here. So don't
ever lie to me again."
He nodded.
His hands covered his face.
And then he cried.
For real this time.
5:31 PM
We lay on the floor after that.
Side by side.
Looking at the ceiling.
Too tired to keep hurting.
Too hurt to rest.
He said, "I thought love was supposed to fix things."
"It doesn't," I said. "It just makes the breaking softer."
He laughed — bitter, broken.
"I'm sorry for leaving you with this."
"You didn't leave yet."
He turned to me.
His face red, puffy.
And whispered, "But I will."
I didn't respond.
Because there's nothing left to say when the truth is sitting between you, holding
both your hands.
6:12 PM
I made him dinner.
He barely ate.
But he tried.
Two bites of soup.
A cracker.
Half a sip of tea.
"I want to stay alive," he said suddenly.
"I know."
"I don't want to die."
"I know."
"I wanted to marry you one day."
I froze.
Then walked over.
Kissed his forehead.
"You still do," I whispered. "Just not here."
He closed his eyes.
And for a moment, the room went so quiet I thought maybe the world had
stopped.
7:03 PM
Before I left, I sat beside him on the bed.
He was lying down, wrapped in two blankets, eyes heavy.
"I'm glad you told me," I said.
"I'm sorry it took so long."
"Me too."
"I love you," he said.
I smiled, tears falling.
"I know," I said. "I always knew."
He reached for me.
Held me close.
And whispered, "No more lies."
And I said, "None."
8:01 PM
Back home now.
The world feels different.
Heavier.
Like the truth added weight to the air.
But it also feels… real.
No more pretending.
No more guessing.
Just the painful honesty of love sitting next to grief and deciding to stay anyway.
I lit the candle again.
The lavender one.
It's almost gone.
Like him.
But it still burns.
And so do I.
For him.
With him.
Until the very last breath.
– Mi-Chan