I woke to antiseptic and the mechanical breathing of a heart monitor, but the most terrifying thing in the room was the man holding my hand. Pain was everywhere, loud and diffuse, but it wasn’t what anchored me to reality. It was the warmth of his fingers against my knuckles, slow and tender, like a practiced gesture. He sat at the edge of my hospital bed in the soft spill of hallway light, looking exactly like the man everyone expected him to be—exhausted, devoted, afraid. Red-rimmed eyes. Hair slightly undone. A voice that cracked in precisely the right places……CONTINUE READING BELOW
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