The Man Who Donated a Kidney to Me Proposed a Month Later, Claiming He Was Terminally Ill and Didn't Want to Pass Alone – But Right After We Said 'I Do,' He Took My Hand and Whispered, 'Now I Can Finally Tell You the Truth'

    "My doctors found something."

"It's still alive."

"Barely. What's wrong?"

Nathan swallowed. "My doctors found something during my follow-up."

Every muscle in me tightened. "Because of the donation?"

    "No. Something unrelated. They caught it during additional testing."

He finally looked at me.

"It's cancer."

    Nathan took my hand.

I sat down. "What kind?"

He answered, but the name barely registered. I heard aggressive. Advanced. Terminal. Treatment might buy him time, but it wouldn't cure him.

Then the sentence that hollowed out the room.

    "They don't know exactly how much time I have."

I reached across the table. Nathan took my hand.

"I don't want to spend whatever time is left alone."

    He stood, and put a small box beside the dying fern.

"You won't."

He laughed once, without humor. "Careful."

"I'm serious."

    "So am I."

He stood, reached into his coat, and put a small box beside the dying fern.