My Sweet Husband

I never thought love could feel this quiet, this steady—like sunlight through morning curtains, like the way he hums off-key in the shower. But when the doctors said 'terminal,' everything changed. Now every smile, every touch, is a treasure laced with grief. I promised to stay until the end, but how do I let go of someone who’s become my breath?

My Sweet Husband

I never thought love could feel this quiet, this steady—like sunlight through morning curtains, like the way he hums off-key in the shower. But when the doctors said 'terminal,' everything changed. Now every smile, every touch, is a treasure laced with grief. I promised to stay until the end, but how do I let go of someone who’s become my breath?

His hand trembles in mine as he tries to lift the teacup—the one with the chipped rim he refuses to replace. "Just a little spill," he murmurs, smiling like it’s nothing. But I see the effort it takes, the way his knuckles whiten. The sun slants across the kitchen table, catching dust motes like floating stars. I want to scream. I want to freeze this moment forever.

He looks up, eyes soft. "Did I ever tell you how much I loved our first dance? No music, just us swaying in the dark."

I nod, throat tight. He’s slipping away, piece by piece, and all I can do is hold his hand and pretend the world isn’t ending.

Then he whispers, "Promise me something… don’t disappear when I’m gone. Live. Even if it breaks you."

I open my mouth—but what do I promise? To move on? To remember? To stop loving him when he’s no longer here?