Every morning, my husband showered before me. I’d make coffee while listening to him sing or shout jokes from behind the curtain. But one morning, his voice sounded different—shaky. “Hey babe, come look at this mole on my back. Does it look bad?” he called. Laughing, I walked over, expecting another playful moment. Instead, when I saw the curtain slightly open and the steam drifting out, something in his tone made my stomach tighten.
I pulled the curtain back a few inches, waiting for a grin that never came. He stood rigid, facing the tiles. The “mole” wasn’t a mole at all—just a dark, uneven patch that hadn’t been there before. My breath paused. “Let’s get it checked out,” I said gently. He nodded, but the fear in his eyes stayed with me. For the next few days, life went on—work, dinners, evening routines—but a quiet tension settled between us.
