We became close almost instantly. He would push my wheelchair without hesitation, debate music with me, and choose to sit beside me even when other seats were open. Somewhere between rehearsals and laughter, our friendship turned into something more. Not once did he make me feel different. My wheelchair was never an issue for him.
At twenty, he asked me to marry him. “I can’t imagine living this life without you,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate. I said yes.
Together, we built a full and meaningful life. Our home was always lively. We had two children, Jane and Jake, who seemed to grow up in the blink of an eye. Later, grandchildren filled the quiet corners with joy.
When you’ve shared so many years with someone, they become part of how you experience everything—like breathing, like the passage of time. You can’t picture a world without them.
Until, one day, you have to.
