thinking it would be easier if I hated him rather than watched him wither away. When I finally saw him, he was a shell of the man I knew — frail, pale, hooked to an IV, but still trying to smile through the suffering. He apologized for lying. I told him we made vows for a reason — in sickness and in health. I wasn’t going anywhere. I stayed through the chemo, the sleepless nights, the fear that hung over us like a storm cloud. I sat by his hospital bed, holding his hand, whispering memories into his ear when he was too tired to speak. One night, we escaped to the hospital roof,

the city lights blinking beneath us. He pulled out my wedding ring — the one he had quietly taken off my hand when he left — and slipped it back on. “Come home with me,” he said. “I never needed a break from you. I just needed time to fight for us.” Today, he’s in remission. Life isn’t perfect — it never is — but it’s honest, it’s ours. Every morning, he kisses me and says, “Another day we get to love each other. No breaks.” And every time he does, I hold him a little tighter.