When the dermatologist appointment arrived, we sat holding hands in the waiting room, trying to hide the fact that we were both imagining the worst. The doctor examined the spot calmly and ordered a biopsy “just to be thorough.” On the drive home, he whispered, “I didn’t think something so small could scare me this much.”
Then the call finally came—the spot was benign. Nothing dangerous. My husband exhaled in relief, pulling me into a hug. That night, as we made tea, he said softly, “I’m never taking mornings for granted again.” And just like that, the fear that had shaken us became a reminder of how fragile—and precious—ordinary moments can be.
