Diagnosed Terminal, My Fiancé Chose Her ,Now Watch Me Rise

The day I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, I submitted my resignation.

The moment the news reached the department, the apprentice I'd trained with my own two hands swooped in overnight to take my place.

"Since you can't hack it anymore, why not hand the project director seat to me? The company doesn't carry dead weight."

She flung the transfer documents in my face. My fiancé of five years, who also happened to be the boss, glanced at me once and signed off on it.

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I turned in my badge.