One gray November afternoon, twenty-twenty-one,
In Decatur, Alabama, a break had just begun.
Nicole Pati sat at work, her coffee growing cold,
And dialed up her daughter’s number, worried, brave, and old.
The phone rang twice, then Hannah spoke, her voice was thin and weak,
A sickness clung to every word each time she tried to speak.
Behind her voice was chaos—kids ran, laughed, and cried,
The soundtrack of young motherhood, exhausting far and wide.
A stay-at-home mom of two, so young at twenty-one,
But this felt more than tired bones from all that she had done.
For months now, every single call rang hollow, low, and strained,
Dizziness and nausea, exhaustion unexplain’d.
Nicole had begged and pleaded, “This is not just stress,
This isn’t normal wear and tear, it’s something more, I guess.”
But Hannah, tough as tempered steel, would brush it all away,
“I’m fine, Mom—just the kids,” she’d calmly say each day.
So Nicole changed the question, knowing how this goes,
“When’s Brian coming home?” she asked, already knowing woes.
Her daughter sighed, “I don’t know, Mom, he’s working late again,”
The house was full of children—but absent was her men.
Brian, skilled and thriving, his practice growing fast,
A brand-new clinic, bigger staff, success that seemed to last.
But with the wealth came absence, long hours day and night,
Leaving Hannah home alone to battle something not quite right.
Nicole understood the strain, the nuance, push and pull,
She helped when she could manage, though her own plate, too, was full.
That day she couldn’t be there, work kept her away,
So mother and her daughter talked like any normal day.
And at the call’s soft ending, Nicole tried once again,
“Please go see a doctor, love—I’ll help you, when and when.
I’ll watch the kids, drive you there, I’ll shift my schedule too,
Don’t let logistics stop you—whatever, Mom will do.”
But Hannah laughed it lightly, like she always seemed to do,
“I’ll rest, take vitamins, eat well—it’s bound to pass on through.”
Nicole sighed but didn’t fight, said “I love you,” soft and slow,
They hung up—fear lingering she didn’t want to show.
Weeks rolled on, the sickness stayed, grew heavier with time,
The dizziness, the nausea crossed a darker line.
Still Hannah wouldn’t go, convinced she’d tough it out,
Her grit became her anchor—and her quiet doubt.
By January twenty-two, the truth could not be hid,
Her body breaking down despite the strength she hid.
So thin she couldn’t walk anymore from room to room,
She rolled herself in swivel chairs through shadows filled with gloom.
At last she said, “Okay, Mom… I’ll go to the hospital.”
Relief and anger mixed inside—too late, but still not all.
Nicole rushed to Hannah’s home, her heart already knew,
This wasn’t just fatigue—this nightmare had come true.
Hannah rolled to greet her, barely skin and bone,
Pale as winter daylight, hair falling on its own.
Less than a hundred pounds, her body wasting fast,
Nicole helped her to the car, afraid how long she’d last.
At the hospital they weighed her—eighty-four pounds read,
An emergency, the nurse said words that filled them both with dread.
“Based on what you’re telling me, this looks like cancer’s hand,
Stomach cancer,” she whispered—something no one planned.
The words hit like a freight train, cruel and sharp and loud,
A mother facing horror no one should be allowed.
Hannah stared in disbelief—this couldn’t be her fate,
She thought this storm would pass… but cancer does not wait.
Tests were ordered, days went by in fear and heavy air,
And then one night the phone rang—Nicole’s heart laid bare.
But Hannah wasn’t calling with results, clear or grim,
She whispered, “Mom, I’m worse… I can’t… please come get me.” thin.
Nicole flew to her daughter, time slipping through her hands,
Found Hannah barely breathing, fading where she stands.
Rushed her back to hospital, doctors moved with speed,
Acute respiratory failure—urgent, dire need.
“She wouldn’t have survived,” a doctor softly said,
“Another day at home—and she’d already be dead.”
They stabilized her body, but the mystery remained,
Cancer didn’t fit the picture doctors tried to frame.
Then suddenly—a seizure tore the silence wide,
Leading doctors to her brain, where answers couldn’t hide.
Viral meningitis, swelling fierce and fast,
Rarely deadly—but for her, the danger loomed and vast.
To save her fragile life, they chose a desperate door,
A medically induced coma—wait and hope for more.
Days passed, then scans returned, revealing something worse,
Her abdomen lit white, a toxic, deadly curse.
Not cancer—but lead, spread deep throughout her gut,
The doctors knew at once: this wasn’t fate or luck.
Police were called, the truth began its cruel reveal,
A crime hidden in vitamins, routine, and daily zeal.
Lead sheets from Brian’s clinic—unused, shaved with care,
Poison slipped in supplements Hannah’d take in prayer.
The man she trusted most, her partner, husband, friend,
Had been slowly killing her—with plans for bitter end.
White spots were pools of poison, months of silent crime,
A husband’s greed ticking down life-insurance time.
One-point-three million dollars was the price he chose,
For a wife’s slow suffering—no mercy, no remorse.
But Hannah lived. Two months asleep, then opened weary eyes,
She woke, returned to children—a miracle disguised.
As for Brian—handcuffed truth, the mask no longer worn,
Convicted, life in prison, where such monsters are born.
A story of a mother’s fear, a daughter’s strength betrayed,
And how evil sometimes hides where love is meant to stay.