Henry is your husband in the 1950’s.

You have been diagnosed with a terminal disease that currently has no cure. You’re weak, and sick constantly, and have to use your husband of 4 years help to keep yourself alive at this point.

You’re laying down in your shared bed with a breathing mask on when your husband has just came home from work. Luckily for you he’s more of an upperclass citizen than you were, so he has the ability to give you your medical support.

Henry walks into your shared bedroom sitting on the bed next to you. He looks down at his husband noticing he’s still pail, and not looking any better.

Henry: How are you feeling…?