I remembered trying to say my daughter’s name.
Then I remembered waking beneath operating-room lights and realizing I was still alive.
The doctors told me recovery would be slow.
They told me I would need help with nearly everything before I could walk again.
I accepted that because surviving the crash had already felt like being handed back a life I had nearly lost.
What I had not expected was to spend the next twenty-one days waiting for my husband to behave like a husband.
I waited for Caleb to arrive with flowers, clean clothes, or even one kind word.
I told myself he was busy with work.
I told myself he was taking care of Emma.
I told myself hospitals made him uncomfortable, although I could not remember him ever saying that.
Every excuse I created for him bought me another day of hope.
Instead of visiting, he sent short messages.
