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Nancy

Bruce continued to sweat coldly, and soon his hand was on his chest. "Nancy...my medicine...where's my medicine?" he asked, his voice cracking with pain.

I looked up slowly, without rushing. "I already told you, in the desk drawer, as always, Bruce."

He tried to get up from the chair, but his legs gave way. "Nancy, help me!", His voice was now a desperate cry for help.

"You've always been strong, Bruce. You don't need my help, remember?" I spoke coldly, remembering all the times he humiliated me for not being 'strong enough'.

Bruce tried to crawl to the drawer, his fingers shaking. "No... I can't... Help me, please."

"Please?" I said, slowly standing up, heading towards him. "When did you ask me for something like that, Bruce? Don't you remember the times you ignored me?"

He was out of breath, struggling to open the drawer. "Nancy... I'm...dying."

I leaned over, watching his face contort in pain. "Dying? How ironic, isn't it? Maybe that's what you deserve."

He gasped, eyes wide.
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