“I Fell in Love with My Boss’s Husband… Not Knowing She Was Dying”

The first time I saw Daniel was at the company anniversary party. I had been working for only three months as a marketing assistant under Patricia Montes—a brilliant, demanding, and impeccably elegant woman who ran our department with an iron fist wrapped in silk.

“Sofia, come here. I want you to meet someone,” Patricia called from across the hall.

I walked over, clutching my glass of white wine and trying not to trip over my new heels. Next to her stood a man in his early forties, with streaks of gray in his hair and a warm smile that softened the usual coldness of my boss.

“This is Daniel, my husband,” Patricia said, her pride barely hidden. “Daniel, this is Sofia, my new assistant. She’s doing an outstanding job, just as I told you.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Daniel said, extending his hand. The moment our hands touched, an electric current shot through me, leaving me suddenly aware of my own heartbeat.

“Patricia speaks very highly of you,” he continued. “She says you’re the best assistant she’s ever had.”

I blushed. “Exaggeration,” I muttered.

That night, I learned Daniel was an architect, a jazz lover, and had a laugh that could fill a room. And the way he looked at Patricia… it was love, yes, but also something I couldn’t quite name—sadness, maybe?

Over the following months, Daniel began appearing at the office more often, always with some excuse: dropping off lunch, picking Patricia up for a doctor’s appointment, delivering documents. Each time, we talked a little longer.

“Another weekend at work?” he asked one Friday afternoon, finding me alone in the office.

“Your wife is ruthless,” I joked. “But I’m not complaining. I’m learning a lot.”

“She’s always been like that,” he said, his smile fading for a moment. “Intense. Passionate… never does things by halves.”

I noticed then the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion no makeup could hide.

Everything changed in December. Patricia canceled an important meeting without notice, then missed two days in a row. When she returned, she looked exhausted, though she tried to mask it under layers of makeup and her usual poised posture.

“Sofia, I need you to handle Tuesday’s presentation,” she said. “I… have an unavoidable commitment.”

“Of course, Patricia. Are you okay?”

“Perfectly,” she replied dryly. But it was clear she wasn’t. And I, too absorbed in my own feelings for Daniel, didn’t fully notice.

One afternoon, Daniel found her in the bathroom, vomiting. He pleaded with her:

“Patricia, you have to tell them. You can’t go on like this.”

“No,” she whispered firmly. “No one can ever know. Especially at work. They’d take my project away.”

“The project doesn’t matter. You matter.”

“It matters to me. It’s all I have left.”

I didn’t understand that conversation. I wasn’t supposed to. I kept watching Daniel, feeling my heart flutter each time he entered the room, imagining impossible scenarios where he wasn’t married and I wasn’t a naive twenty-six-year-old in love with my boss’s husband.

In January, Patricia asked me to bring some urgent documents to her house. Daniel answered the door, eyes red.

“Sofia… Patricia is upstairs, but maybe you should know something first,” he said.

“What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

“No… it’s not that,” he said, running a hand over his face. “Patricia is very sick. Pancreatic cancer, stage four. She was diagnosed eight months ago, just before you joined the company.”

My world stopped.

“Eight months… and no one knew?”

“She doesn’t want anyone to know,” Daniel whispered, tears in his eyes. “She’s terrified she’ll be seen as weak, that she’ll get replaced before finishing her life’s work. Doctors gave her six months… and she’s still fighting.”

I went upstairs to see her. Patricia was fragile, tiny without her designer suits, but her gaze remained sharp.

“You already know,” she said. “That man can’t keep a secret.”

“Patricia, I…”

“I don’t want your pity, Sofia. I want you to finish the project. You know every detail. When I can’t… I want you to present it.”

I swallowed back tears. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m realistic, not pessimistic. There’s a difference,” she said, coughing violently. Daniel rushed in with medicine and water, tending to her with infinite tenderness. Watching him, I hated myself—for every selfish fantasy, for every time I wished things were different, for falling in love with a man enduring the worst moment of his life.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll make this project perfect. I promise.”

She smiled, tired but genuine. “That’s why I chose you.”

Patricia passed away three weeks later, having seen preliminary approval for her project. Daniel called me.

“She went in peace,” he said, voice breaking. “Knowing her work would be in good hands.”

At the funeral, I stayed in the background, just another employee paying respects. When our eyes met briefly, I saw in his a mixture of shame, grief, and a love that could never be mine.

I left before the ceremony ended. Some stories don’t have happy endings. Some teach painful lessons about timing, choices, and desires that can never be fulfilled.

I submitted Patricia’s project two months later. It was a resounding success. When everyone applauded, I only thought of the brilliant woman who fought to the end, and the man who loved her until the very last breath.

I never saw Daniel again. And that was okay. Some loves are meant to teach you, not to stay.