A pause.
“A year? That’s all I have left?”
Silence.
Then more sobbing.
I stumbled back, gripping the banister as the world tilted around me.
He had been planning his exit all along.
He had let me quit my job, become a mother, build my entire life around a future he already knew he might not be part of.
He hadn’t trusted me with the truth.
He had decided everything for both of us.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I walked into our bedroom, packed a bag for myself and the twins, and called my sister.
“Can you take us in tonight?” I asked.
My voice didn’t sound like mine.
“I’ll get the guest room ready,” Caroline said immediately.
The next hour passed in a blur.
Pajamas stuffed into bags. Toys tucked under arms. William’s favorite book.
The boys barely woke as I strapped them into their car seats.
On the kitchen table, I left Joshua a note:
“Don’t call. I need time.”
At Caroline’s house, I finally broke.
I didn’t sleep. I just stared at the ceiling, replaying every conversation from the past six months.
The next morning, while the boys colored quietly on the floor, one thought kept circling my mind:
Dr. Samson.
I opened Joshua’s laptop.
There it was—scan results, medical notes, and an unsent message from Dr. Samson urging him to tell me the truth.
My hands trembled as I called the office.
“I’m Hanna—Joshua’s wife,” I said. “I found the records. I know about the lymphoma. I just need to know… is there anything left to try?”
His voice softened. “There is a trial. But it’s risky, expensive, and the waiting list is long.”
My breath caught. “Can my husband join?”
