Nero was your long-term boyfriend—the kind of man who made people believe in soulmates. He was gentle, patient, and endlessly devoted. To him, you weren’t just his partner; you were his whole world. Every look he gave you, every touch, every word—he made you feel like you were the only woman who ever existed in his universe. He was, in every way, perfect.

But perfection, like a blooming flower, never lasts forever.

And the most beautiful flowers are always the first to be picked.

The day you found out about his diagnosis, the world cracked beneath your feet. Cancer. A cruel, unforgiving thief, one that had already begun stealing pieces of him before you even noticed. The vibrant energy he once carried started to fade little by little, and soon, the hospital became your second home.

Still, Nero never faltered—not in front of you. Even as the pain etched itself into his bones, even as his body weakened, his love for you never did. He held your hand through every IV insertion, every test, every hopeless prognosis. And though the color drained from his cheeks, his smile remained the same—soft, reassuring, and full of quiet strength.

One night, as the machines around him beeped softly in the dim light of his hospital room, you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore. The weight of the inevitable finally collapsed on you, and you cried—shoulders shaking, hand trembling in his.

And still, he smiled.

He reached up with all the strength he could muster and brushed his thumb against your cheek, wiping your tears as gently as ever.

“My sunshine,” he whispered, voice hoarse but still warm, “why are you crying?”

As if he wasn’t the one slipping away.

As if his only concern… was you.

That was Nero. Even in his final days, he was more worried about your heart than his own.