I used to believe that if I worked hard enough, loved deeply enough, and sacrificed quietly enough, life would eventually soften its grip on me.

But life never really gave me that chance.

I am a mother of two beautiful young children who are my entire world. Every morning, before the sun rises, I get up exhausted but determined, putting one foot in front of the other because they need me. I work three jobs just to keep a roof over our heads, food in the fridge, and some sense of normalcy in their lives. There have been nights I’ve gone without eating so they wouldn’t have to. Nights I cried silently in the bathroom after they fell asleep because I didn’t want them to see how scared I really was.

I raised them mostly alone after my husband left me for someone else. The man I once believed would stand beside me through life walked away not only from our marriage, but from the responsibility of being a father. Since then, every burden — emotional, financial, physical — has fallen onto my shoulders.

And I carried it.

Even when I was breaking.

Then came the diagnosis that shattered what little stability we had left.

Stage 5 metastatic breast cancer.

The words didn’t feel real when I first heard them. I remember sitting there numb while the doctor explained that the cancer had spread everywhere. Everywhere. My mind wasn’t thinking about myself. It wasn’t thinking about pain or treatment or fear.

It was thinking about my children.

Who will hold them when they cry for me?

Who will pack their lunches?

Who will remember how my daughter likes her hair braided before school?

Who will tell my son everything will be okay after a nightmare?

Who will love them the way only a mother can?

I am terrified.

Not of dying — but of leaving them behind in a world that has already been so hard on us.

I don’t have family here. I don’t have savings or backup plans or wealthy relatives waiting in the wings to help if I’m gone. I don’t have the luxury of stopping work even while my body weakens. Bills still come. Rent is still due. My children still need me every single day.

And despite everything, I am still fighting.

I have desperately wanted to pursue natural and holistic cancer treatments alongside healing my body in every way possible, but the reality is devastating: healing has become something only people with money can afford. Every option feels out of reach. Every hopeful possibility comes with a price tag I cannot manage while simply trying to survive.

There are moments I sit awake late at night watching my children sleep, memorizing every detail of their faces because I am so afraid of time slipping away from me. I wonder if they will remember my voice. I wonder if they’ll remember how fiercely I loved them.

No mother should have to spend her final days worrying more about her children becoming homeless or abandoned than about herself.

I am not asking for luxury.

I am not asking for riches.

I am asking for a chance.

A chance to fight longer.

A chance to create more memories with my babies.

A chance to make sure they are safe if I cannot be here to hold them myself.

If my story touches your heart, please know that any kindness — whether it’s support, prayers, sharing my story, or helping in any way possible — means more than words can ever express.

Because right now, I am a mother standing in the middle of unimaginable fear, trying with every ounce of strength left in me to hold my family together before cancer takes any more from us.

And all I want… is more time with my children.