For fifteen years, David and I had built a fortress of love.
One sentence from a stranger in a white coat cracked its foundation.
« Stage 4, » the doctor repeated gently. « We can’t save him. All we can do is keep him as comfortable as possible. »
David squeezed my hand harder, as if he were the one holding me up.
The doctor gave us the death sentence.
« How long? » I whispered.
« Weeks. Perhaps a few months, if we’re lucky. »
Back home, our two children clung to their father while he pretended everything was fine.
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