“He thinks if he makes a thousand,” my husband continued softly, “you’ll say
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
I felt my throat tighten as I looked back toward the bed.
His eyes fluttered open when he heard my voice.
When he saw me, a faint smile appeared on his thin face.
“I knew you’d come,” he said weakly.
My heart cracked.
“You always come back.”
That hurt.
Because I hadn’t.
Not when he first got sick.
Not when the doctors said the leukemia was aggressive.
Not when they told us we didn’t have time to waste.
For illustrative purposes only
I walked slowly to the bed and took his hand carefully, afraid of hurting him.
His fingers felt so small in mine.
“I’m here now,” I said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded gently, like that was enough.
