It was the fifth year of being a mistress to James when his dream girl returned to the country. I was mercilessly dumped by him, in order to clear the relationship. To make matters worse, I became terminally ill and was dying. I squinted James, the man whom I had loved for my entire life, light Valentine's Day candles, embrace his dream girl into his arms, kiss and cuddle her fondly through the long night together. Only I knew that his occasional glance at me was always calm and indifferent. And, he must not have known—I was going to die.