The weeks that followed were filled with appointments, tests, and quiet determination. Our family rallied around us. Fear was always there, but so was hope.
On the day of the surgery, I sat in the waiting room for hours that felt like years.
When the doctor finally emerged, I held my breath.
“He is stable,” the doctor said. “The surgery was successful.”
Relief washed over me so powerfully that I had to sit down.
Recovery was slow, but steady.
Strength returned. Color came back to his face. For the first time since our wedding, his smile reached his eyes again.
Two months later, we visited Malcolm’s grave together.
I placed a bouquet of daisies at the base of the headstone.
“I still miss you,” I whispered. “Every day.”
Graham stood beside me, his hand warm in mine.
