My husband always showered before me. I’d hear the water running while I made coffee, and he’d call out silly things from behind the curtain. One morning, I heard him say, “Hey babe, come look at this mole on my back. Does it look bad?” I laughed and walked toward the bathroom. But then I saw…the curtain slightly open, the steam rolling out, and a tremble in his voice that I had never heard before. At first, I assumed he was just being dramatic—he had a habit of turning the smallest things into jokes for attention. But when I pulled the curtain back a few inches, expecting a playful grin, he wasn’t laughing. He was standing still, facing the tiled wall, his shoulders tense. The “mole” wasn’t really a mole at all—it was a dark patch that hadn’t been there before, uneven at the edges, almost shaped like a small splash of ink. For a second, my breath caught in my throat. “Hey,” I said softly, touching his arm, “let’s get it checked out. Just to be safe.” He nodded, but the fear in his eyes lingered. Continue reading…
