married.
“It just feels like I’m dreaming”
We didn’t have much. I worked as a store clerk, while Tom was a mechanic. But we had food on the table, a comfortable bed, and someone who genuinely cared.
After the childhoods we had survived, that felt like everything.
When our daughter Emily was born, we were happier than we had ever imagined possible.
One morning, I looked at Tom and smiled.
“It just feels like I’m dreaming. One wrong move, and I’ll wake up without you.”
A month later, that fear became real.
A doctor adjusted his glasses and sighed before delivering the news.
“Your husband has cancer. It’s very aggressive.”
The room seemed to freeze.
I heard the clock ticking behind him and the faint rustle of paper as Tom shifted in his chair.
“How aggressive?” Tom asked.
The doctor’s hesitation frightened me more than his answer.
I clenched my
fists beneath the table.
“I’ll fight for him with all I have.”
Tom reached for my hand. His fingers were warm, but trembling.
“We’ll fight together,” he said.
And we did.
Every scan terrified me. Every appointment made my stomach twist. Even a ringing phone could make my heart race.
At night, when Tom finally slept, I buried my face in the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me cry.
By morning, I forced myself to keep going.
We emptied our savings and borrowed money. We traveled to specialists in other cities, tried different medications, and eventually agreed to an experimental treatment that offered only a tiny chance.
I held onto that chance because it was all we had.
A year after the diagnosis, I sat beside Tom and held his hand as his breathing slowed.
He gave me one last weak smile.
Then he was gone.
After the funeral, I
