Her body itched relentlessly, red patches spreading across her skin like wildfire. At first, I thought it was just an allergy — maybe a reaction to new laundry detergent or something she ate. We tried antihistamines and soothing creams, but the itching only got worse, keeping her awake at night. Worried, I finally took her to the doctor, hoping for a quick fix and some reassurance.

But the doctor’s expression changed as he examined her. His casual demeanor shifted to something more serious. He ordered blood tests and scans, quietly speaking with the nurses. My stomach twisted with dread as I watched the medical team move with urgent efficiency.

Days later, the diagnosis came — not an allergy, but cancer. The word hit me like a physical blow, leaving me struggling to process what it meant.

Suddenly, our lives were consumed by hospital visits, treatments, and the crushing weight of uncertainty. The itching, once dismissed as a minor irritation, became a grim reminder of the disease spreading through her body.

I watched as she endured chemotherapy, her strength fading with each session, yet she never complained. In quiet moments, I replayed those early signs, wondering if we could have caught it sooner — if I had pushed for answers faster.

Now, every itch and ache feels like a warning, fear always lingering in the back of my mind. The diagnosis changed everything, turning ordinary discomforts into potential threats.

But amid the fear, there’s determination — to fight, to hope, and to cherish every moment we have together. Cancer may have entered our lives uninvited, but it will never define us without a fight.