Every morning followed the same gentle rhythm. My husband showered while I brewed coffee, the sound of running water blending with the quiet comfort of our kitchen. From behind the curtain, he joked and narrated his imaginary adventures, turning an ordinary routine into something warm and familiar. So when he called out that morning and asked me to look at a mole on his back, I laughed, assuming it was just another small interruption we’d forget moments later.
As I walked toward the bathroom, mug still warm in my hands, I noticed his voice had changed. It wasn’t fearful, just softer and more serious. Steam filled the room as he turned slightly, showing me what he meant. It wasn’t alarming, just unfamiliar. In that instant, I realized how easily we move through life assuming everything is fine because it always has been, forgetting that change often arrives quietly.
