The pain in his eyes tugged at my heart and tore the lining in a soft spot worn thin from worry. Over night, his face had become sunken and shapeless, like the bones had been eaten away by the cancer in his body. Each day grew harder for both of us.

He sipped the homemade chicken broth I brought, wincing each time he swallowed. Not one part of him didn’t hurt. Not one part of me didn’t hurt with him.