When I left home to care for my seriously ill mother, I believed my husband would hold things together until I returned. I imagined coming back to open arms, a safe place after months of worry and heartbreak. Instead, I walked into a reality I never expected.
My name is Stella, I’m 25, and I had been married to Evan, 27, for two years. We met young, fell in love quickly, and thought we were ready for life together. We had stable jobs and a cozy townhouse we decorated with care. I remember sitting at the kitchen table one evening, planning potential baby timelines in my planner. Evan leaned across the table, smiling, “We’ll have the cutest kid on the block.” For a moment, life felt light and full of hope.
Then came the call that changed everything.
My mother, my anchor, had stage four cancer. Doctors gave her six months. I packed a bag, moved back into my childhood home three hours away, and entered the hardest season of my life. Those months were grueling: chemotherapy sessions, hospital stays, and countless moments where I tried to be strong for her even when I felt like crumbling. She urged me to live my life too, but I refused to leave her side.
Evan called occasionally, his voice tired. He claimed he was “managing the house” and “keeping busy.” He never visited, always citing work or not wanting to intrude. I accepted his explanations, hoping he was genuinely supportive.
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