Unfortunately, Sophie's story isn't rare. According to a landmark study published in the journal Cancer, nearly 21% of women diagnosed with a serious illness like cancer are abandoned by their partners—compared to just 3% of men.
It's a devastating statistic that highlights an ugly truth about gendered emotional labor: when sickness enters a relationship, women overwhelmingly stay, while men are far more likely to flee, cheat, or "seek a replacement."
"At least I didn't have to deal with the paperwork of divorce," Sophie says, ever the optimist.
Something I have always admired about Sophie is her resilience and ability to look on the bright side. I think with her positive attitude, she just can't help but pull everyone into her orbit.
"I had called my sister after he left, and she had coached me through a panic attack. She knew exactly what to say to pull me out of it and gave me some things to do, to keep my hands and mind busy. One of them was to treat myself that day, so I did."
That led her to her favorite local restaurant, and then—fatefully—to a bookstore she'd passed dozens of times but never entered. Sophie smiles brightly, recounting this to me, a look of pure joy crossing her face as she continues:
"And on that day—objectively the worst day of my life—I met Callum."
She's talking about Callum Rhodes, the man who slowly, patiently, lovingly helped her rebuild her life.
His bookstore,Rivers & Rhodes, sits in the heart of Starling Cove, Massachusetts—a storybook coastal New England town. It's the kind of independent bookstore that feels mystical and welcomes you in like a warm embrace: sunlight through tall windows, plants in mismatched pots, the smell of wood and spice, the low hum of a Fleetwood Mac record playing. It's been family-run for a decade by Callum and his mother, Maeve.
I know this place well. I'm part of the bookstore's Monday-night book club,Ever After Always, where I first met Sophie in August. She'd walked in wearing a shy smile and seeping bravery from every pore. Within ten minutes, we were all laughing, and by the end of the night, she was one of us.
None of us has let her go since.
"It's funny," Sophie says now, her smile soft. "I kept losing things—my hair, my health, my energy, my breasts soon—but with everything I lost, I gained so much more. Friendship. Family. Hope. People who actually show up for me. The loss was completely worth what I gained in return."
She looks down, then back up at me, eyes glistening but bright with happiness. "My entire life changed that day I walked into that store and met Callum. He didn't look at me like I was fragile. He didn't try to fix me. He just made me laugh. He let me feel normal again. And now he's... he's everything to me."
Sophie is now more than halfway through her chemotherapy treatment and will be having a double mastectomy in December. After that, she will go through radiation treatment. When I ask Sophie if she's nervous or worried about these treatments, she tells me.
"I was," she admits. "But with the people I have in my corner now, I feel like I can face anything. I feel hopeful now. Even when I'm exhausted or sick from chemo, I can still smile. I canstill show up to book club and debate about tropes and book boyfriends and laugh with my friends. I can make it through the day and be so thankful that not only am I still here, but that I'm thriving."
Sophie is one of the lucky ones to have a support network and keep her job while undergoing treatment, but she acknowledges that others are not so lucky.
What's often left out of these glossy awareness campaigns is the financial devastation that can follow. Treatment for breast cancer can exceed $100,000 in the first year alone, leaving patients fighting for their lives and their livelihoods at the same time.
Breast cancer doesn't affect all women equally. According to data from theAmerican Cancer Society, Black women are 40% more likely to die from breast cancer than white women, despite similar incidence rates. Socioeconomic inequality, medical bias, and lack of access to early screening are among the driving factors.
"I know my story isn't the norm," she says. "There are women out there going through this alone or struggling financially or not getting the equitable care that they deserve. And that's just... God, it's just so not fair."
At the bottom, you'll find various charities supporting cancer research, patient care groups for patients and their families, and survivor support. Sophie asks anyone who can make donations to those in need to do so.
When I ask what she hopes readers will take away from her story, Sophie thinks for a long moment before answering.
"I want my story to remind them that it's possible to start again. Even with something like cancer, your life is not over. Sometimes the ugliest endings lead to the most beautiful beginnings," she says, her voice quiet but sure. "No matter what cancer takes from you—your hair, your breasts, your energy,your future plans—it can't takeyou. It can't take your kindness, your spirit, or your ability to love and hope again."
She pauses, smiling through tears that don't fall.
"And sometimes when you lose everything, that's when you finally find it all."
???
The tears trickle slowly at first.
By the time I reach the last lines of the article, they're falling steadily, blurring the words on the screen into a watery mess. I drag the heel of my hand across my face, harshly, angrily, but it's useless. The more I try to stop them, the quicker they fall.
The sound that escapes me is broken and ugly as I drop my head into my hands and weep. My chest burns, and it feels like my heart is trying to claw its way out. The pain is shredding, ripping me from the top of my head to my toes. My breathing turns choppy as I sob, stuttering with every inhale.
I clench my jaw to keep from screaming out.
If I start, I won't stop, and I'll wake up the whole house.
