“Stage four cancer… just weeks to live…” These words echoed in my mind as everything around me shattered. My husband was dying. The diagnosis felt cold, and I was devastated.
When we saw Dr. Matthews about Eric’s condition, his expression said it all. I knew something was terribly wrong. That’s when he told us that Eric had stage four cancer and had only weeks to live.
The news hit us hard.
Eric had to stay in the hospital, and in the following days, I spent almost all my time there, trying to stay strong for him and assuring him everything would be fine.
I cried uncontrollably at the thought of losing Eric, but the doctor told me I should prepare for the worst.
One day, pacing the hospital corridors, I needed a moment to breathe, so I went outside and found a bench to sit on. That’s when she appeared: a nurse in her late 40s, wearing navy scrubs and shoes that showed signs of long hours on her feet. She sat beside me.
“Set up a camera in his ward,” she whispered. “He’s not dying.”
“What!?” I gasped. “What are you talking about?”
“Just do what I say. You deserve to know the truth,” she urged.
And then, just like that, she was gone.
