Another two months passed.
Charlotte's belly had grown even more.
She was only a few days away from giving birth, yet there was no joy on her face.
The glow that should have belonged to a mother was nowhere to be seen.
Her expression was gloomy as she slowly walked toward their bedroom, carefully holding a bowl of soup.
Thin steam rose from it, warming her hands but not her heart.
She stopped in front of the door and gently pushed it open.
The door creaked softly as she stepped inside. The moment she saw the bed, her heart felt like it was being crushed.
"Husband…" she whispered.
On the bed lay a man…no, a dying man.
His skin was pale white, as if all blood had drained from his body.
His face showed no color at all.
He was so thin that his bones were clearly visible, his body weak and fragile, carrying a faint bluish shade.
His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at nothing. There was no life in them, except for his faint, uneven breathing.
