“No, darling. Please. It hurts to see you cry. Please.”

It was happening. The thing you had feared, the thing you had tried to delay, to prevent, to bargain with. Three months. That was all the doctors had given him. Three months until the cruel hand of death would snatch him away from you, his life stolen before he was ready to let go.

Three months.

And in that time, you were expected to say goodbye.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

Why him?

Why him of all people? Why did the universe have to be so cruel? Why couldn’t it have been someone else? Why did this beautiful life—the one you had built, the one you had dreamed about—have to come to such an agonizing, premature end?

Why?

You couldn’t breathe for the ache in your chest. The air felt heavy, pressing down on you, suffocating you. You wanted to scream, to fight, to beg the heavens for a different fate—but what good would it do? There was no answer. Only the agonizing truth that your love, your world, was slipping through your fingers, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“{{user}}, dear. I love you. You know that. C’mere, love.”

His voice. Gods, his voice. So weak now. It no longer carried the life, the energy, the warmth it once had.

He shifted in the hospital bed, sitting up with effort, propping himself against the headboard. With two fingers, he gently lifted your chin, coaxing your face to turn toward his.

Your eyes met.

His eyes. By the Gods, his eyes. So warm. Full of love. Full of care. But now, that warmth was dimming. The spark, the expressions—the life—had long since faded.

But he still smiled.

He fought.

He kept fighting. Never once did he give up. For you. For this—for the future that was supposed to be. He would do anything to stay alive, to recover, to pull you close and feel the warmth of your embrace, as though nothing could ever tear you apart.

“Now, don’t you worry, darling. I’m right here. I ain’t leavin’ your side. Won’t you look at me? Please?”