Priya and I had been in love for three years before we got married. We’ve now been husband and wife for four years, yet still had no news of children. When we went to the doctor, it turned out the issue was with me—but Priya never once blamed me.

My family, upon learning this, loved her even more. Still, they always feared that one day, she might leave. But after seven years of love and marriage, I trusted her with all my heart.

During that time, I began feeling unwell—losing weight without explanation. I didn’t want to go to the doctor at first, since all our savings had been spent on IVF procedures. But when the weight loss became alarming, I had no choice.

The results were devastating: I was diagnosed with cancer.

My world came crashing down. I was drowning in fear and hopelessness. I had only just started my own family, hadn’t even welcomed our first child yet, and I still had aging parents who depended on me. Now I had a terminal illness, and if I didn’t survive… how much pain would I leave behind for those who loved me?

I handed Priya the diagnosis. She clutched me and sobbed. Then, she composed herself, wiped her tears, and began comforting me. We hadn’t told either of our parents yet. That night, I overheard her whisper:

“You’ll need to be hospitalized soon. We can’t hide this from your parents anymore. But you must stay strong. With this illness, mindset is everything. You have to fight, no matter what.”

Then she said something I never expected:

“I’m sorry… but please let your mom take care of you now.”

The next morning, she was gone.

I was in agony—tormented not just by the disease, but by what I believed was abandonment from the woman I loved. For three full months, Priya vanished. No one knew where she had gone. My spirit sank, and my body weakened further. The cancer had progressed to its final stage. Only my parents and in-laws took turns taking care of me.

Then one day… she returned.

Priya walked toward my hospital bed. She looked healthier, fuller. I was furious. I turned my face away, not wanting to see her.

But then… she handed me a piece of paper.

It was a pregnancy report.

I froze. Then broke down in tears.

Over the last three months, Priya had secretly gone through multiple IVF attempts. She wanted to give me something—a reason to keep fighting, a glimpse of life beyond the sickness. She kept it a secret from everyone because she feared being stopped. People worried that if I didn’t survive, she’d be left alone to raise a child in hardship.

But she didn’t care. She believed in me. She believed in us.

I clung to her, crying uncontrollably. I don’t know how much time I have left… but I swear, I’ll fight with everything I have just to see my child’s face.

How could I ever let down a woman like her—my unwavering partner through sunshine and storm?