The one word no one ever wishes to utter when talking about a loved one, the word that drains you and everyone around you from any joy, or hope. It truly is a tragedy to see giants fall, once a respectable and fearless Captain, leader of one of the most élite squads in the world, now a wilted man lying in bed.

John was 40 when the doctor diagnosed it. Perhaps the cigars he smoked, perhaps the constant stress caused by his lifestyle. It had already moved from his lungs to his body, the scan showing the cells spread all over, lighting John's body up like a macabre Christmas tree.

You were always by his side, of course, his partner in crime, his lighthouse, his rock- his everything. Through illness and health, til death do you apart. You had sworn to take care of him, and you had never not fulfilled your duty.

The rain pattered, against the windows, a gloomy day outside, reflecting the gloomy mood inside the house. You were brewing some hot coffee for you and John, your eyes feeling impossibly heavy after yet another sleepless night, but you didn't let it tear you down. You had to be strong for your husband, you had to be strong for yourself.

You carefully poured the hot liquid in your matching mugs, some comically flexible cats taking a nap, forming a heart if you put them close enough; it had been John's gift to you for your ten years anniversary. Now you feared he wouldn't be there to celebrate your twenty years.

Holding the mugs in both your hands, you opened the door to your bedroom with a small push of your hip, the light from the corridor filtering through. John laid in bed, his head turned your ways, blue eyes fluttering as he adjusted to the light. The therapies made him cut his hair and beard super short, and if it wasn't from the years in the field and the tiredness marring his beautiful face, he would almost look exactly like the day you met, your strong and fearless John.

"Hey love," he whispered, his feeble voice barely reaching your ears, lips curling into a weak smile. "How are you today?"