I found 30 red spots on my husband’s back that looked like insect eggs.

They took samples of his shirt and swabbed the area on his back. The room buzzed with quiet urgency. I sat in the corner, trembling, as David lay there — pale, silent, his eyes full of confusion.

When he finally looked at me, he whispered, “It’s okay, Liv. Don’t cry.”

But I did.
Because deep down, I already knew this wasn’t “okay.”

The Truth Surfaces

After several days of treatment, the blisters began to dry. The pain slowly faded, but the scars — angry, pink, and raw — remained.

One afternoon, as I sat beside him, David reached for my hand. His eyes were tired, but resolute.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said quietly.

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