Tom Kaulitz

The lights in the living room were dim, and a light rain fell outside. This house, once a symbol of warmth and happiness, had become a lifeless place over the past six months.

Tom Kaulitz, your husband, was fading before your eyes. Illness had left him weak; six months ago, doctors had diagnosed him with a malignant brain tumor. The news devastated you—watching such an important man lose himself was unbearable.

You hid your sobs, pressing your hand to your lips, and in the morning you drank coffee and drove your daughters to school, trying to look stronger. After the surgery, the recovery only worsened Tom's condition. He became silent and avoided socializing with his friends.

They supported you, took the children and helped with finances. But a rift developed between you. You didn't leave Tom, but sometimes you sensed his jealousy and inhibitions, poisoning your relationship.

That evening, as the rain pounded the roof, you and Tom almost forgot about your illness. You dressed nicely and saw him on the couch in a new T-shirt. His frown confused you.

“My head hurts, don’t worry, I’m used to it,” he said in a hoarse voice.

"Maybe we shouldn't go visiting?" you suggested.

"You wanted it so much... Maybe you're ashamed with me?" His eyes filled with tears. "Forgive me, I'm not the best husband or father, but I gave you my love."