'I Just Wanted to See You One Last Time,' My Terminally Ill Ex-wife Wrote — But Our Daughter Exposed the True Purpose of Her Return

Kian believed his ex-wife had disappeared forever until she showed up claiming she was dying and desperate to see their daughter one last time. But when his young girl finds a startling secret inside a teddy bear, Kian recognizes the truth: his ex isn't there just to say farewell… she wants something else.

I never thought I would hear from my ex-wife again.

Not after she left six years ago, leaving behind a two-year-old daughter and a husband who had begged her to stay. Not after she vanished into the distance, only sending an annual postcard and a stuffed animal as a reminder she was still alive.

She said, "I can't do this, Kian," as she looked at Kylie, our baby girl, while removing her coat from the hook. "But you can."

I didn't expect her to come back like this, with a message that made my stomach tighten painfully.

"Hey! Do you remember me? The doctors say I won’t be around much longer. It’s terminal. I just wanted to see you once more. And Kylie. Please, let me!"

The message felt unreal.

I had moved on. I was happily remarried, raising Kylie and our new son, Jake, with my amazing second wife, Lillian. Our life was filled with bedtime stories, laughter, and warmth I thought I’d lost after the divorce.

But how do you refuse a person who is dying?

Could you?

So, I decided to meet her.

She picked a restaurant for us. When I arrived, she was already seated, stirring her coffee with a hand that seemed too steady for someone gravely ill.

I sat opposite her, not sure what to say.

"So… how long do you have left, Marissa? When did you learn of your condition? Are you certain about the diagnosis?"

She said, "It's stage four. Maybe months, maybe weeks. Who knows for sure, Kian? It’s been tough, you know?"

I nodded, a sudden wave of sympathy unexpectedly hitting me.

"I'm sorry. Truly," I told her.

I didn’t care for Marissa. But she was once my wife, and I had loved her deeply. And she had given me Kylie… so feeling some way about her situation seemed natural.

She reached out to take my hand, and I instinctively pulled back.

"That’s why I wanted to see you," she whispered softly. "And Kylie. I need to hold her, say goodbye. Just once…"

I paused.

"Look, Marissa," I said carefully. "You do realize Kylie hardly remembers you, right? You left when she was only two."

A small flicker of disappointment crossed her face.

"But still, she’s got my gifts, right? The teddy bears? Doesn’t she know I’m the favorite who sent her toys?"

I fought back a bitter smile.

Favorite person? The bears? The rare, guilt-laden presents she rarely touched?

She said, "She got them."

"I just… I want to see her, Kian," she pressed. "I want to say farewell. I want to hold my child. I carried her, I made her…I deserve to see her and say goodbye."

I exhaled. I couldn't argue with her reasoning. I didn’t want her near my child, but I saw no other choice.

All right, but only if she followed my rules.

Marissa nodded eagerly.

I didn’t realize then that I would regret opening the door to her.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Lillian and I exchanged looks, surprised. We were preparing ice cream sandwiches for our kids.

I offered, "I’ll get it. But don’t eat anything without me!"

Kylie giggled.

I opened the door and saw a large teddy bear blocking the view of whoever was holding it.

Then I heard a cheerful voice.

"Surprise!"

I almost slammed the door shut.

"What the hell, Marissa?" I hissed.

"I just wanted to see Kylie. You said I could," she said with a bright smile, stepping past me inside.

Before I could stop her, Kylie came running down the hall. She paused when she saw Marissa.

She looked at her puzzled and then at me.

"Daddy, who is she?" Kylie asked. "Who’s this lady?"

Marissa’s face fell. My stomach clenched—not out of sympathy for her, but because I hated what she was doing to herself.

Lillian, holding our son, stepped in smoothly.

"Kylie, sweetheart, why don’t you finish your drawing? We’ll talk in a little while, okay?"

"But what about the ice cream sandwiches?" Kylie asked with wide eyes.

"We’ll have them later, sweet girl," Lillian said gently.

Kylie nodded and went into her room.

"Kids, huh?" Marissa said with a forced smile.

I should have kicked her out then. Immediately. But instead, I let her stay for dinner.

Over the next few days, Marissa met Kylie at the park multiple times. We never told our daughter about her cancer; it didn’t seem necessary since she hardly recognized her as her mother anymore.

There was no need to explain.

Then Marissa made another shocking statement.

"The doctors reviewed my condition again," she said, clutching my arm dramatically. "It’s a miracle, Kian! There’s a chance I can survive!"

I blinked slowly.

What?

"Wow, that’s… great," I said slowly.

"It’s not that simple," she replied, biting her lip. "I might recover… but only if I take new medication. There’s a trial she recommends, but it costs a lot."

I should have guessed.

"How much?"

Twenty thousand dollars.

She said it casually, as if handing me a sugar packet.

That was a lot of money.

"That’s a steep price, Marissa," I told her firmly.

She sighed. "I know. But, Kian…"

Her eyes looked at Lillian, knowing exactly how to sway her.

I felt bad for her.

So, we debated.

And that nearly became our biggest mistake.

That night, Kylie came into our room, clutching the teddy bear Marissa had given her.

She looked serious. Too serious for an eight-year-old.

"Daddy," she whispered. "She’s lying."

What do you mean, honey? I asked, sitting up.

"This bear talks," Kylie said. "It’s her voice."

She held the latest bear Marissa gave her after the last park visit. She had come with a cheesecake and the bear, trying to figure out what was real about our arrangement.

Kylie pressed on the bear’s stomach. A distorted voice crackled to life.

"I’ll get the money soon! And you owe me a drink!"

My breath caught.

I grabbed the bear and found a tiny recorder hidden inside. When I rewound it, Marissa’s voice played back.

"Yeah, I told Kian it was stage four. And he totally believed it. He was crying in the restaurant. Twenty grand for fake tears."

Lillian gasped. Kylie looked at me, betrayed and understanding all at once.

Marissa had been on the phone, gloating about her scam, and she accidentally recorded herself.

She handed Kylie her own confession.

"I told you she’s not my mom," Kylie said.

You were right, sweetheart. I told her.

The next day, I messaged Marissa.

I have the money. Come and get it.

She arrived half an hour later.

Kylie handed her an envelope full of cash. Her eyes lit up.

She exclaimed, "Oh, thank you! That’s so kind of you! This means everything…"

But I interrupted, "Before you open it, listen to this."

I pressed play.

Her own voice filled the room.

"Yeah, I told Kian it was stage four. And he bought it completely. He was nearly crying at the restaurant. All that money for fake tears."

Marissa froze. Her face paled.

"That’s not me!" she stammered. "Someone doctored that recording…"

She ripped open the envelope, revealing twenty thousand dollars—_Monopoly_ money.

It was Kylie’s idea.

"If she’s fake sick, then let’s give her fake money," she said determinedly.

Marissa’s face twisted into anger.

"You can’t do this to me!"

You brought this on yourself, Marissa, Lillian said coldly. And why did you record a message on the teddy bear? What was on there before?

Marissa stared, then finally said, "It was a recording of me telling her I’m her real mother. I think I accidentally erased it."

She looked upset.

"You’re pathetic," I said. "Now, leave. Get out of our lives."

She stormed out and slammed the door. I turned to Kylie.

You saved us, and you saved our money, I told her.

She said, "She didn’t deserve it, Daddy. Didn’t you say we have to earn what we get?"

You’re right. I told her that since she was old enough to understand chores.

Marissa didn’t belong here. She shouldn’t be part of Kylie’s life.

Our true family is right here. Under this roof.

And no scam could change that.

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