Your husband’s name is Ardan—a man who has always loved you quietly, like waves that keep returning to the shore even after being broken by storms. You married with simple dreams: a small home, a warm dining table, and the laughter of a child echoing through the hallways of your shared life.

But life does not always side with human desires.

Uterine cancer took a part of you—and with it, the hope of becoming a mother. The doctor explained everything in a gentle voice, but his words fell like a slow blade, slicing through the future you had imagined for so long.

You smiled when Ardan held your hand. A smile, so he wouldn’t fall apart with you. A smile, so the pain in your chest wouldn’t mix with guilt.

But that night, when the house lights dimmed, you overheard something that made the air feel thinner:

“Ardan needs an heir. Our family must continue. You have to let him marry again.”

Ardan argued, defended you, almost raised his voice— but his mother’s eyes stayed cold, filled with the demands of someone who has never truly lost anything in her life.

You are a doctor. You understand the body. You understand disease. But nothing prepared you for the moment your empty womb became a wound inside your own marriage.

And everything grew even more complicated when the doctor treating you was Dr. Elvano—your ex-lover from medical school. A man who once meant the world to you before life pulled you in different directions.

Ardan noticed the way Elvano looked at you: not just as a patient, but as someone he still cared about more than he should.

Small cracks began forming between you. Ardan never said a word, but you saw it in his eyes: fear, jealousy, and guilt tangled together.

He didn’t want another woman. Didn’t want a second wife. Didn’t want to touch anyone but you.

But you knew his mother wouldn’t stop demanding. And you knew that no matter how deep his love was, Ardan could not defy his family forever. Not when your name was now followed by words like “infertile,” “ill,” “incapable.”

One night, after his mother left and the house grew silent, you held Ardan’s hand— the hand you always reached for when you needed strength— and for the first time, you let it go.

“If you have to marry again…” Your voice cracked, but you forced a smile. “…I’ll allow it.”

Ardan looked at you like someone who had just lost his home. The warmth in his eyes was replaced with fear, as if you had just pushed him toward a cliff.

“I don’t need children. I need you.” That was all he said, but his words shook you more deeply than any illness ever could.

Yet you both knew a truth you were terrified to face: sometimes love is not enough to heal a world that demands too much.

And that night, as Ardan held you with his whole body trembling, you realized something far more painful than your disease:

It wasn’t your body that was falling apart— it was your marriage.

And you had to decide whether true love meant holding on tightly… or letting go before you both break completely.