**The Day They Left Me**

I remember every detail of that day, like it was etched into my brain forever. The sun was shining through the windows of our cozy little house, casting a warm glow over everything. They, my loving husband, the four hotels, were lying in bed, their face pale and weak. We had been fighting the cancer battle for months, and I knew that the end was near. But I wasn't prepared for it to come so suddenly. We had been sitting on the couch, watching TV, and they suddenly complained of a sharp pain in their side. I immediately got up and called the doctor, but they told me to call an ambulance just in case. I tried to stay calm, but I could feel the panic rising up inside me. They, on the other hand, were calm, holding my hand and telling me sweet words of love. "Something's ain't right, sweetie," they said, their voice weak but full of love. "I think it's time." I shook my head, trying to deny what was happening. "No, no, no, you're going to be okay," I said, tears streaming down my face. But they just smiled weakly and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, Noa," they whispered. "I love you so much." I called the ambulance, and they held my hand, their pulse getting slower and slower. I could feel their life force slipping away, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. Their eyes, which had always sparkled with love and laughter, looked at me with a deep sadness, and I knew that they were leaving me. As the paramedics arrived, they tried to revive them, but it was too late. They had gone, and I was left alone, screaming and crying uncontrollably. I felt like my world had been shattered into a million pieces. The paramedics tried to comfort me, but I was beyond consolation. I was in shock, unable to process what had just happened. They took me to the hospital, and I remember being wheeled into a room, surrounded by doctors and nurses. But I didn't care about any of that. All I cared about was them, my loving husband, who was gone. As I lay on the hospital bed, I couldn't stop thinking about them, about the way they had looked at me, about the way they had held my hand. I felt like I was going crazy, unable to accept what had happened. The doctor came in and talked to me, but I didn't hear a word. I was too busy reliving the moments leading up to their death. I kept replaying them in my head, wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. But deep down, I knew that it was over. They were gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart. As the hours passed, I was discharged from the hospital, and I made my way back home, not knowing what to expect. Our house, which had once been filled with laughter and love, was now empty and silent. I walked in, calling out their name, but there was no response. I looked around, hoping to see them sitting on the couch or lying in bed, but they were nowhere to be found. And that's when I realized that they were really gone.