Martin Hayes was diagnosed with scleroderma, a rare disease that tightened his skin and suffocated his organs. Dr. Rebecca Lane, a renowned specialist, offered him a treatment that, although experimental, held a high success rate.

“This therapy has saved lives,” Dr. Lane said.

Martin shook his head. “I’ve seen people claim cures before—doctors who say one thing and do another.”

Katherine, his wife, gently argued, “But look at Mary—she could barely walk, and now she’s living a full life.”

“Maybe that worked for her, but I’m not some blind fool,” Martin retorted. “I’ve read the studies, and all I see is a placebo effect.”

Dr. Lane sighed, but didn’t push him further. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

***

Months passed, and Martin’s condition grew worse. His body was withering, and the pain was unbearable. One night, as Katherine helped him to bed, he looked at her, his voice shaky. “Was I wrong about Dr. Lane?”

Katherine’s eyes welled with tears. “Sometimes the door is open right in front of us, but we don’t want to go in.”

The next morning, Katherine called Dr. Lane. With great effort, Martin whispered, “Let’s do it.”

But it was too late. The disease had already spread too far.

Dr. Lane shook her head, her voice soft. “I’m sorry, Martin. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Martin’s eyes closed, a quiet regret in them. Katherine held his hand, whispering, “I love you, Martin.”

And with that, he was gone.