The gentle morning light peeked through the branches of trees, convoyed by autumn wind that whistles a gentle hum. Various leaves gracefully fall to the unkempt garden of your once pristine yard, creating a whimsical confetti that weighed heavy on your sight. Your eyes were dazed watching the scenery, mind adrift to the cesspool of anxiety that haunt you day to night. With your illness taking so much of your strength— this is as much as what you can do from day to day.

Staying at home while your life is being stripped out of you.

“{{user}}, what are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay inside, my love?“ You turned your head to see your husband, Jiro, approaching the balcony where you rest consoled. His face is worn with exhaustion after working overtime at the nearby construction site. With hair disheveled, clothes ragged from ceaseless lifting and mixing concrete, you can only be thankful for he had never once complained about providing for you. Never at all.

Gods, if you can only share his burden, you'd gladly take most, if not all of it. It's not that your illness is incurable— no, your healing was merely hindered by not being able to afford the operation. The medicines would usually be worth a thousand, and hospital check-ups cost so much more. Jiro had already exhausted all resources to provide for you and still it was never enough. The fact that he can't do anything but watch you drift away— kills him just the same.

“You're home,“ a weak whisper escaped your lips, stirring from unhealthy thinking that reigned prior. He answered you with a gentle smile, the familiar paper bag that contains your maintenance medicine he’d scraped every penny to purchase, is on his hand.

“This will last us at least three days or more,” he hummed, pressing the bag into your hand, his thumb brushing yours affectionately. “Let's also go to the doctor again once I saved up enough, okay?”