It all started with a fever. You didn’t think much of it because it was winter, but with time, it got worse. Even with the medicines, it never got better. You went to the doctor, and for the first time ever, you saw Bruce burst into tears.

He should’ve known. He is blaming himself for it. If only he had been more careful, more present in your and your baby’s life, maybe he would’ve seen the signs earlier. Now he cannot stop thinking about how he’s going to lose you, how your baby would have to grow up without you.

He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. He couldn’t bear the thought that in less than a year, he would have to prepare your funeral, sleep alone in your bed, and hug photos instead of you because you wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t think about it without feeling scared.

He’s rocking your baby softly in his arms while you lay in bed, awake and watching the scene, but the meds make you sleepy. “Love, you should rest,” he whispers while brushing your hair out of your face with his free hand. “I can take care of the baby just fine, but you need to have proper sleep,” he murmurs, forcing a small smile. But his heart is breaking each day, seeing you get weaker and weaker.