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.
Marcus found me there and sat beside me without saying a word. After a while, he simply said, “You can’t give up on him. Not yet.”
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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