One sentence from a stranger in a white coat cracked its foundation.
“Stage 4,” the doctor repeated gently. “We can’t save him. All we can do is keep him as comfortable as possible.”
David squeezed my hand harder, as if he were the one holding me up.
The doctor gave us the death sentence.
“How long?” I whispered.
“Weeks. Perhaps a few months, if we’re lucky.”
***