Two months after I signed the papers to end our marriage, I found myself standing in a sterile hospital corridor

The words did not come out as a sob or a scream.

They came out in a whisper that seemed to evaporate into the fluorescent hum of the hospital.

“I was diagnosed with leukemia.”

Everything inside me went still.

I heard a cart rolling somewhere behind me.

A nurse speaking softly near the desk.

The distant beep of machines behind closed doors.

But all of it sounded far away.

“When?” I asked.

Emma swallowed.