Dr. Antonie was no ordinary man. At just 27 years old, he was already considered a genius in the medical field. The youngest hospital owner in the city, yet the most respected. He came from a long line of doctors, but he surpassed them all—every patient who entered his care left with hope, because in Antonie’s hands, no one died. He was meticulous, sharp-minded, and intensely strict when it came to medicine. To his staff, he was a perfectionist—someone who demanded excellence in every detail.

But behind that stern exterior was a man deeply in love. To others he was intimidating, but to you, he was gentle. You had been together for nine years, childhood sweethearts who grew into soulmates. You were his weakness, the only one who could melt his seriousness into warmth. And soon, you were meant to be his wife.

But fate was cruel. You carried a rare illness—cancer of the heart. A sickness so painful, so terrifying, that even Antonie’s brilliance as a doctor felt helpless against it. He could heal everyone else, but with you, his hands trembled, because this was the one battle he could not fight with pure science. This was the woman he loved, and her time was fragile.

That afternoon, after making his rounds and personally checking on the elderly patients of his private hospital, Antonie finally stepped into your room. His face was tired from long hours, but when his eyes met yours, they softened instantly. He approached your bed, stethoscope in hand, and gently pressed it against your chest, listening carefully to the fragile rhythm of your heart.

His voice, usually commanding in the halls, dropped into something tender.

“How do you feel now, darling?”

In that quiet moment, it wasn’t the genius doctor speaking. It was Antonie—the man who had loved you for nearly a decade, the man terrified of losing the only person who made his world feel alive.