“What happened?”

“He didn't want me to tell you.”

“Why?”

There was a pause.

“Because he thought he was protecting you.”

Maya froze.

“Protecting me from what?”

His mother didn't answer. Instead, she said quietly:

“He found out about his condition shortly before he sent you that message.”

Maya couldn't speak.

That evening, she went to the hospital.

Daniel looked thinner and exhausted, but when he saw her, his eyes filled with something she hadn't seen in months.

Relief.

“You're an idiot,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You let me think you stopped loving me.”

“I know.”

“You let me hate you.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Daniel looked down.

“Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of becoming someone you had to take care of.”

He told her he couldn't bear the thought of her watching him deteriorate, cancelling her plans and putting her life on hold for him.

Maya's eyes filled with tears.

“You don't get to decide what I'm willing to endure for someone I love.”

He looked at her. And suddenly she understood.

Sometimes people don't leave because they stop loving you. Sometimes they leave because they don't believe they're worth being loved through their worst moments.

Maya reached for his hand.

For the first time in three months, neither of them felt alone.

But there was still something Daniel hadn't told her.

And Maya was about to overhear it.

For the next few days, Maya stayed close to Daniel.

She brought him food, argued with him about his medication and tried to pretend things were normal. But she knew something was wrong.

One evening, she returned to his room and stopped outside the door when she heard voices.

Daniel's mother was inside.

“She deserves to know.”

“I know.”

“Then tell her.”

“I can't.”

“You don't get to make this decision for her again.”

Maya froze.

Again?

Then she heard Daniel whisper:

“I have six months.”

Her heart stopped.