My wife is paralyzed, so I haven’t been inti:mate with her for four months. Out of deep frustration, I left her alone for ten days to go on a date with the younger sister of my colleague. And then… the unexpected happened.

Then one rainy Thursday evening on Interstate 71, everything we called normal shattered in seconds when a truck lost control and slammed across lanes, leaving twisted metal and shattered glass behind.

When I reached her in the hospital, half her body lay still, and the doctors eventually said the words that changed everything, spinal damage, uncertain recovery, and a future that would cost more than we could imagine.

She cried once at three in the morning under harsh lights and whispered, “Why can’t I feel them,” and I held her hand and promised we would get through it, believing every word because I had not yet been tested by time.

For weeks I tried to be strong, sleeping in stiff chairs, arguing with insurance, learning medications, and bringing her terrible coffee she pretended to enjoy.

She fought through therapy with quiet strength, apologizing for needing help as if she was the burden instead of the reason I should have stood taller.