Not long after, I fell and broke my hip, and once again, John was there without hesitation. He cooked, cleaned, and sat with me through slow, aching days, promising I was not alone. When I rewrote my will, I gave him everything I had, not because he needed it, but because it was true. My other children protested, but truth doesn’t bend to anger. When I look back now, I don’t remember saving a life in that rest stop bathroom. I remember finding my own. In loving a child the world had left behind, I found purpose, belonging, and a reason to matter again.
