Actually, I had known about Davon's cancer diagnosis long before.
But it wasn't late-stage yet. There was still a chance for treatment. I never expected him to give up so easily. I never thought my in-laws and sister-in-law would give up so quickly, either.
The pain was unbearable. I went to the bathroom to wash my tear-streaked face.
I couldn't help but touch the real diagnosis report in my bag.
It was the last check-up report from Davon's medical exam. Perhaps it was too old, and Davon had forgotten about it. I had managed to get it back just now.
The diagnosis read: Stage 2 cancer.
The doctor's words echoed in my mind: He said there was still a 50% chance with conservative treatment, but if left untreated, it would progress to stage 4 in a month, and then it would be incurable.
In other words, my husband's life, if untreated, likely only had one month left.
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