A Quiet Life in Tennessee
David and I had been married for eight years. We never had much, but our small house in Tennessee was always full of warmth and laughter.
He was a quiet man — the kind who came home from work, hugged our daughter, kissed me gently on the forehead, and never once complained.
But a few months ago, something began to change. He was constantly tired, scratching his back so often that his shirts showed little lint marks. I thought it was nothing serious — maybe mosquito bites, maybe a mild allergy.
Then one morning, while he was still asleep, I lifted his shirt to apply some cream… and froze.
The Red Marks
Tiny red bumps covered his back. At first, there were only a few. But over the next few days, more appeared — dozens of them, grouped together in strange, symmetrical patterns.
They looked almost like small clusters of insect eggs under his skin.
My heart raced. Something was terribly wrong.
“David, wake up!” I cried, shaking him. “We need to go to the hospital right now!”
He chuckled sleepily. “Relax, honey, it’s just a rash.”
But I couldn’t calm down. “No,” I said, trembling. “This isn’t normal. Please, let’s go.”

