I could feel Daniel slipping away. We’d just found out I was pregnant with our first baby, I’d hoped this would bring us closer, make him want to be home more. But he’d been so distant. Always working late, taking one business trip after another.

“Daniel,” I’d say, “can we talk tonight? Just… catch up?”

He’d look at me with tired eyes and give a faint smile. “I’d love to, but it’s just been so busy, you know?”

Busy. Always “busy.” I missed him. I missed us. Some nights, I lay awake next to him, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’d done something wrong. Wondering if he still wanted this. If he still wanted me.

One evening, after a week-long trip, Daniel came home looking more exhausted than ever. He barely mumbled a “Hey,” dropped his suitcase, and headed straight for the shower. I was used to him brushing me off by now, but tonight was different.

Something was gnawing at me. I felt uneasy, like there was something he wasn’t telling me, something lurking just out of reach.

When he finally came to bed, he turned his back to me and almost instantly fell asleep. I lay there for a few minutes, just listening to his breathing. Then, I noticed a mark on his back, faint but unmistakable. I leaned in closer, squinting. It was a barcode.

“A… barcode?” I whispered to myself, puzzled.

I remembered a video I’d seen not long ago. In it, a woman found out her husband was cheating when his lover secretly tattooed a barcode on him as a message. The thought twisted my stomach.

No, it couldn’t be. Daniel wouldn’t… But then again, why was he acting so distant? And this barcode? It was like a sign, screaming for me to pay attention. My hands shook as I reached for my phone, hesitating.

I took a deep breath and opened the barcode scanner on my phone, pointing it at the faint tattoo on his back. The scanner beeped, and a website popped up on the screen. As it loaded, my hands were clammy, and I could barely breathe. I braced myself for a photo, a message, some piece of evidence confirming my worst fears.

Instead, a number appeared on the screen with a short caption: “Call me ASAP. He has just months.”

I stared, feeling cold, like the blood had drained from my body. Just months? What did that mean?

Not knowing what else to do, I quietly left the room and dialed the number. My hand was shaking so much I could hardly hold the phone.

A woman answered, her tone calm and professional. “Dr. Evans here. How can I help?”

“Um,” I stammered, “I… I just scanned a barcode on my husband’s back. It led me to this number. It said… it said something about him only having months.”

There was a pause. Then she spoke, her voice soft. “You must be Daniel’s wife. I… I’m so sorry you had to find out like this.”

I felt my knees weaken, and I reached for the wall to steady myself. “What does that mean? Is he… is he sick?”

“Yes,” she replied gently. “Daniel came to us a few months ago. He has stage four pancreatic cancer.”

I gasped, unable to speak. My mind went blank, and I could barely process her words. “Cancer? But… why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Dr. Evans took a deep breath. “He wanted to keep it from you. He didn’t want to worry you, especially since you’re pregnant. He said he wanted you to be happy.”

I wiped a tear from my cheek. “Then why… why would you put a barcode on him?”

Her voice softened further. “This isn’t something I’d normally do, but… I lost my own husband to cancer. He kept it a secret from me until it was too late, and I never had the chance to say goodbye. I didn’t want you to go through that, to lose that time with Daniel without knowing. I thought if you found out… well, it would give you a chance to face it together, even if he couldn’t bring himself to tell you.”

I felt anger and sadness surge inside me all at once. “So you… you did this without his knowledge?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice full of regret. “I saw how afraid he was to tell you and put a temporary tattoo on him, disguising it as disinfecting an injection site. He wanted you to know, but he couldn’t say the words. I thought… maybe this way, you’d discover it on your own.”

I covered my mouth, stifling a sob as I tried to process everything. The room spun, and I felt a hollow ache inside me, an ache that was both loss and love.

I stood there, holding my phone in one hand, feeling like I’d been hit by a tidal wave. My heart pounded as Dr. Evans’ words echoed in my mind.

For a moment, anger bubbled up. Why hadn’t he told me? Didn’t he trust me? But the anger faded, replaced by a hollow ache. I knew he thought he was protecting me and our unborn child. But how could he believe I’d want this? To carry on, oblivious, thinking we had a future when he knew we didn’t?

The next morning, I woke early, watching the dawn light spread across the room. Daniel lay beside me, looking peaceful in sleep. I felt a pang, knowing that each morning we had left was a gift. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, gently rousing him.

“Hey,” he mumbled, half-awake, blinking at me in surprise. “You’re up early.”

“I was thinking,” I said, smiling, “how about we take a weekend away? Just you and me. We deserve it.”

He looked at me, a little taken aback. “A getaway? Now? Are you sure? I mean, with everything going on…”

“Yes, now,” I interrupted, my voice steady. “We need this. We both do.”

That weekend, we drove out to a small lake cabin we’d once visited years ago, early in our marriage. The cabin was just as we remembered it, cozy and welcoming, surrounded by tall pines.

We spent hours walking by the water, our hands entwined, talking about anything and everything. At night, we lay under the stars, watching them blink in the clear sky, his arm wrapped around me, and for a little while, it was like everything was perfect.

A few days after we returned, I suggested we finally paint the nursery. “I’ve been meaning to,” he said with a shy smile, “but I thought we still had time.” His words stung, but I brushed it off and handed him a paintbrush.

Together, we painted the walls a soft blue, laughing as we left handprints on each other’s faces and ended up sitting on the floor, paint-splattered and tired. When we finished, he stood back, looking at the freshly painted walls and the tiny crib by the window.

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tightly I could feel his heartbeat. His shoulders shook, and he buried his face in my hair. I held him, feeling his silent tears, each one breaking my heart a little more.

His health was slipping. One morning, he could barely lift his head from the pillow. I sat beside him, holding his hand, brushing back his hair as he struggled to open his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his hand weakly squeezing mine. “I wanted to… be here… longer.”

I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tears in my eyes. “You’ve done enough, Daniel. You’ve given us everything.” I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his. “Rest, my love.”

He managed a faint smile, his eyes filled with warmth, with love. “Thank you… for making these days the best of my life.”

And then, gently, his hand slipped from mine, and he was gone.

At his funeral, I sat quietly, surrounded by friends and family, their voices blurring around me. My hand rested on my growing belly, and I felt a tiny kick. I closed my eyes, imagining Daniel’s hand there, sharing in the moment. “Your daddy was the best man,” I whispered, my voice thick with tears. “He loved us so much, more than we’ll ever know.”

As people came and went, offering condolences, I felt the ache of his absence, sharp and painful. But in that ache, I found a strange kind of comfort, a reminder of how much he’d given me, of every precious moment we’d shared.

I knew that, even though he was gone, his love would be with us always. It would live on in our child, in every memory we’d made, in every heartbeat.