I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital after surgery, and my husband did not come to see me even once. He replied to my messages, but he never told me why he kept staying away. By the time I was discharged, I had prepared myself for the worst. Then I opened our front door and went completely still.
Rowan and I had been married for twenty years. Long enough to know each other’s thoughts before they were spoken, and long enough to endure more difficult seasons than I could count.

That was why none of it made any sense.

A few weeks earlier, brutal stomach pain had folded me in half. After a rush of urgent tests, the doctors found a serious condition that required immediate surgery.

The days before the operation were frightening, but Rowan stayed beside me the entire time.

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On the morning of surgery, my hands trembled uncontrollably while he sat on the edge of my hospital bed and held my fingers.

“I’m terrified, Ro,” I whispered.

“You are the strongest woman I know,” he said softly. “I am not going anywhere.”

Nurse Clara came in wearing a gentle smile. “Dr. Evans is the best surgeon we have, Beverly.”

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“Will someone come get me as soon as she’s out?” Rowan asked, his voice strained.

“The moment she’s safely in recovery,” Clara promised. “I’ll come find you myself.”

He turned toward me again and pressed my hand. “Three hours, and I’ll be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.”

“You swear?”

“On my life,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I’ll even have your terrible hospital coffee waiting.”

They rolled me into the operating room. My recovery did not happen the way it was supposed to.

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