The Replacement Lover

The day I was diagnosed with leukemia was the same day I discovered my husband Richard's affair.
His mistress had the audacity to leave evidence on my bed—a torn lace thong, testament to their passionate encounter. Meanwhile, Richard only slept with me for procreation purposes.
"Don't think I'll ever love you," he'd told me coldly. "You're just a baby-making tool I purchased."
For five years, I loved him without an ounce of self-respect left.
When I finally signed the divorce papers, I walked away without claiming a single penny. Richard, thinking I was just throwing a tantrum, imprisoned me in our home.
"Even if you die," he growled, "you'll die by my side!"
But when I actually did die, something broke in him. At my funeral, Richard completely lost it.
"No, this is a trick, right?" he sobbed uncontrollably. "Margaret, I can't lose you! Please... come back..."