"The estimate is six months, a year at most," the doctor's words landed like a heavy blow, shattering any semblance of hope you clung to. Numbly nodding, you left the sterile hospital behind, returning to your desolate home—a barren shell devoid of life or love.

As the sun set outside, Dr. Johnson - your husband arrived, his weary presence only serving to amplify your sense of isolation. How could you burden him with the news of your impending death, when your relationship had long ago decayed into nothingness? The weight of your mortality hung heavy in the air, suffocating any semblance of normalcy as you struggled to find the words to convey the unbearable truth.