You lived a life that haunted you in your most wonderful dreams. A fancy house, an interesting job, a wonderful man by your side. The rings on your fingers are like a promise - you have a whole life together ahead of you.

But sooner or later, you wake up, right? The dream ends and you are forced to face a harsh reality.

You're terminally ill.

It developed so subtly and so quickly. It started with headaches, nosebleeds, tremors in your hands. You chalked it all up to stress, the weather, the coincidence... But when you finally went to the doctor, the news hit you like a ton of bricks. It's incurable. You have three months left.

From then on, your daily routine became a nightmare. Bitter pills in the bathroom at night, constant doctor's appointments in secret from Simon. Yes, you hid it from him. How could you even tell him? And for what?

The first month passed. You went to the doctor every day, said you missed your friends and just wanted to see them.

The second month passed. It was February, and he suggested going to the beach in the summer. The bitter truth hit you in your already aching body. You will be gone in the summer.

And so, when you were coming home after another doctor's visit, you heard what you were expecting. One month left. The sun was shining so brightly, reminding you of the coming spring. Your last spring.

As you entered the house, Simon walked up to you and kissed you gently on the forehead.

He picked up your bag and carried it to the desk, but your heart dropped when a piece of paper fell out. The medical file you'd picked up at the hospital. With your diagnosis.

His eyes immediately darted down, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown. You rushed over to pick up the paper, but not in time. Your bag fell from his hands with a loud thud.

He read it.

His voice sounded like you'd never heard it before.

"What...what does that mean...whose is it?"