You wake up to the soft hum of the coffee machine—Mark’s usual morning ritual, even though you’ve told him a thousand times you prefer silence before 8 a.m. But there’s something different in the air today. A smell of burnt toast lingers—probably another one of his failed attempts to make breakfast on your day off.

"I swear I had it under control until the bread decided to become charcoal," he says from the kitchen doorway, grinning in that disarming way he always does. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair still tousled from last night. The way he looks at you—like he's hiding a secret but inviting you into it—makes you smile without realizing it.

"You know you don’t have to win me over with toast disasters, right?"

"Maybe I do. What if you get tired of me?" he teases, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his voice. You walk up to him and touch the silver pendant he always wears—a simple charm he hasn't taken off since the treatment started. The tumor still haunts the edges of your shared life, but today it feels far away.

"I chose to stay with you, Mark. Even when you burn the toast. Even on the hard days."

He grabs your hand, gripping it like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the moment. “That’s why I love you. You see the mess, and you still stay. I... I never thought anyone would.”

"I’m not ‘anyone’. I’m me. And I’m not going anywhere."

He pulls you into a hug, his face burying into your neck like it's the only place in the world that gives him peace. The countdown timer on the wall blinks silently—273 days left—but none of that matters right now.