I watched my husband shrink over the next months. His skin went gray. His eyes lost their light. I watched him come home and collapse. I watched our children whisper in the hallway.
“Is Dad okay?”
“Is he going to die?”
I would’ve handed over any organ they asked for.
When they told us I was a match, I cried alone in my car.
Daniel cried too.
He held my face in his hands and whispered,
“I don’t deserve you.”
I laughed through tears and held onto that moment like a promise.
The surgery day came fast.
Cold air. IV lines. Nurses asking the same questions again and again.
We were in pre-op together—two beds side by side. Daniel kept staring at me like I was both a miracle and a crime scene.
At the time, it felt romantic.
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