Her life was a true fairy tale. She’d always set her goals high: the hot man, the power career, the great kids. She had it all. When the defining moment and diagnosis came through, she felt her world swirl around the edges of the black hole of despair. Could she recover, and even more so, did she want to?

He married his happily-ever-after. She made him smile, laugh, and believe life really was a dream come true. He worked hard, played hard, and doted hard on his family. And when his world crumbled, he found it hard to carry on. Now he’s in recovery mode. Will he be able to push past the pain and misery, or is this the end?

 Somewhere within the stark reality of the moment, Doctor Trihn cursed that dirty word, and the raw truth of the diagnosis. My logical brain understood my job. My job as a wife. My duty. The responsibility clearly defined in our vows, spoke in our vows, expressed in front of God and everyone we loved. The declarations binding us together for eternity. I vowed to Marshall my undying support through sickness and health, until death do us part. Apparently my words appeared superficial at this moment, unheeded and meaningless. I stood still, paralyzed, the one held and supported by the man just handed his death sentence. Me, the weak link in our never-ending circle of commitment.