In January 2021, our world collapsed.

Until then, life had been simple and full. A warm home. Two children. Ordinary days filled with laughter and small routines that felt permanent. Our son Nikolas was ten years old, curious and energetic. Our daughter Marcelinka was just two — bright-eyed, playful, and endlessly curious about the world around her.

We had no idea how fragile ordinary life could be.

It began quietly. Marcelinka caught what looked like a normal childhood illness. A fever. Fatigue. Mild discomfort. Nothing that raised alarm at first. We told ourselves it would pass, just like all the others before it.

But it didn’t.

Day by day, her strength faded. She stopped running. Then walking became difficult. Eventually, even standing required effort. The sparkle in her eyes dimmed, replaced by exhaustion we couldn’t explain.

Two days in the hospital changed everything.

Doctors delivered words no parent is prepared to hear: Wilms’ tumor. Stage V. Both kidneys affected.

In that moment, the ground disappeared beneath our feet.

Our little girl — who had been laughing and learning only days before — was suddenly facing an aggressive form of childhood cancer. There was no time to process the shock. No space for grief. Only urgency.

Within a week, chemotherapy began.

Marcelinka was barely two years old. Her tiny body was suddenly subjected to needles, medications, scans, and procedures she could not understand. We watched as each treatment designed to save her also took something from her — strength, appetite, energy.

The hospital became our second home.

Playgrounds were replaced by IV poles. Bedtime stories were replaced by medical updates. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. Eight cycles of chemotherapy followed, each one heavier than the last.

Scans. Blood draws. Endless waiting.

Her once-bright spirit grew quieter. The child who used to dance through the house now struggled to lift her head.

In April, surgeons attempted to remove the tumors.

We waited, holding our breath, clinging to hope.

But the news was devastating. One kidney was far more affected than doctors had expected. Surgery alone wasn’t enough. More chemotherapy was required. Treatment would continue through June 2022.

Our hearts sank, but we had no choice but to continue.

Chemotherapy transformed her in ways no parent should have to witness. She became painfully thin. Eating was a battle. Walking required assistance. Even simple movements exhausted her.

To keep her nourished, we prepared specialized meals to support her fragile body. Each plate of food was carefully planned, each bite celebrated. But the emotional and financial burden grew heavier with every passing week.

Then came the pandemic’s shadow.

In December 2020, my husband lost his job. Temporary work kept us afloat, barely. I stayed home full-time to care for Marcelinka. Medical bills piled up. Living expenses didn’t pause for illness.

Every day became a calculation: how to keep our daughter alive, comfortable, and supported — with fewer resources and mounting fear.

The emotional toll was relentless.

Watching your child suffer while being powerless to stop it breaks something deep inside. There were nights filled with tears we tried to hide. Moments of silence where fear felt louder than words.

And yet, we never stopped fighting.

Because Marcelinka never stopped fighting.

Even on her weakest days, she showed us flashes of life. A small smile. A quiet laugh. A determined attempt to stand. Each tiny achievement felt enormous. We celebrated them as if she had climbed a mountain.

Every spoonful eaten.
Every step taken.
Every moment of recognition.

They were signs she was still here. Still trying.

They gave us strength when ours was gone.

The road ahead remains daunting. Marcelinka still requires critical surgeries — for her face, her hips, and cranial support. Treatments to strengthen her kidneys, repair bone structure, and help her walk without pain are essential.

The costs are overwhelming. The timeline is urgent. Without continued care, her ability to walk, breathe freely, and live without pain is at risk.

Time is slipping.

But there is something stronger than fear or finances.

Love.

Love that shows up every morning, no matter how tired we are. Love that refuses to give in to statistics or odds. Love that finds hope in the smallest victories.

Doctors speak in probabilities. We choose faith.

Marcelinka continues to teach us what courage truly looks like. She smiles through pain. She laughs when strength should be gone. She reminds us that life is not measured by ease, but by persistence.

Every scan is a battle.
Every injection is a test.
Every hospital visit is another chapter in a fight no child should have to face.

Yet every small victory feels miraculous.

Her laughter is a rebellion against pain.
Her smile is proof that illness does not get the final word.

We celebrate every morning she opens her eyes. Every night she falls asleep without tears. Every time she calls us “Mama” or “Papa” with clarity and love.

Marcelinka has taught us that survival is not just about medicine.

It is about courage.
It is about perseverance.
It is about refusing to let suffering define the future.

We will continue to fight for her.

No cost is too high.
No effort too great.
No challenge too impossible.

Because Marcelinka deserves a life filled with laughter, freedom, and joy. She deserves to run, to dance, to play without pain. She deserves a childhood untouched by fear.

Through every sleepless night, every tear-filled hospital hallway, we hold onto hope.

Hope that the next treatment will help.
Hope that the next surgery will heal.
Hope that one day, this chapter will be behind her.

Marcelinka’s tiny body carries a warrior’s heart.

Every day, she redefines bravery.
Every day, she reminds us why love matters.
Every day, she proves that even the smallest fighters can carry unimaginable strength.

Her journey is far from over. But her story already inspires everyone who hears it.

A story of family.
A story of resilience.
A story of a little girl who refuses to let cancer decide who she becomes.

We fight for Marcelinka.
We fight for her future.
We fight because she is worth it.

Because she is life.
Because she is our daughter.
And because her story is still being written — one brave day at a time.