Based on the text in the image and the cliffhanger provided, here is the full story with a dramatic conclusion:
My son finally DECIDED TO MARRY. I was relieved — he was my only child, and I needed to see him settle down before I was gone. He did not know I had just ONE YEAR LEFT.
The ENGAGEMENT was lavish. Everything was perfect. Then, the moment came. Nathan knelt, opening a box with a diamond ring. But before he could speak, a cry rang out.
“No! STOP! It’s a LIE!”
My 9-year-old niece, Cora, KNOCKED THE RING AWAY. All eyes were on her. I led her to my office.
“Tell me, why did you do that?” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Grandpa, I saw them — an hour ago! She was on the phone behind the catering tent. She didn’t know I was there.”
Cora was shaking, clutching my sleeve. I knelt down to her level, my heart pounding. “Who, Cora? Saw who? What did you hear?”
“The lady Nathan is marrying,” she sobbed. “She was talking to a man. She laughed and said, ‘It’s almost over. The old man is dying anyway. I saw his medical file. One year, baby, and then we sell the estate and split the cash. Nathan is so stupid, he suspects nothing.’”
My blood ran cold. My illness… my diagnosis of having only one year left… I hadn’t told a soul yet. I hadn’t even told my son because I didn’t want to ruin his happiness. The only record of it was in a sealed envelope in my private safe.
Rage replaced my shock. This woman wasn’t just using my son; she had broken into my privacy and was counting down the days to my death like a vulture.
I marched back into the hall, holding Cora’s hand tightly. The room went silent.
“Dad?” Nathan asked, stepping forward, looking worried. “What’s wrong? Is Cora okay?”
I looked at the woman who was about to take my son’s hand. She was feigning concern, but her eyes darted nervously.
“The wedding is off,” I announced, my voice booming across the silent room.
She gasped, clutching her chest. “What? Why? Look at poor Cora, she’s just a child, she’s imagining things!”
“She imagined nothing,” I said, staring her down. Then, I turned to my son. “Nathan, there is something I haven’t told you. I am sick. I have a year left to live.”
Nathan reeled back, devastated. “Dad… no…”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I continued, pointing a trembling finger at his fiancée. “But she knew. She found my files. And Cora heard her bragging on the phone about waiting for me to die so she could take my money and leave you.”
The woman’s face went pale white. She opened her mouth to argue, but Nathan’s expression had shifted from grief to fury. He saw the guilt written all over her face.
“Let me see your phone,” Nathan demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “If you were talking to someone, show me the call log.”
She didn’t move. She didn’t have to. The silence was an admission of guilt. Then, without a word, she turned and ran out the back exit.
Nathan collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands. I sat beside him and wrapped my arms around him, just as I had when he was a boy.
The engagement was over, but my son was safe. We spent that night talking—really talking—for the first time in years. I promised to fight as long as I could, and he promised to stay by my side.
Thanks to little Cora, I didn’t lose my son to a monster. I spent my final year surrounded by true family, knowing that when I finally let go, everything I built would be left in safe, loving hands.
