By day thirty, the doctors started using words like permanent damage and long-term care. I couldn’t bear it. I collapsed in the hallway, sobbing.
His faith didn’t make sense, but it gave me strength.
On day forty-five, he brought a small box — a model motorcycle kit. “For when he wakes up,” he said. “We’ll build it together.”
I nodded, too choked up to speak.
The Forty-Seventh Day
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