He was my first love. I was his. When he smiled at me across the cafeteria, the world felt steady and safe, as if nothing truly bad could happen as long as we stayed together.
Then, just days before Christmas, everything changed.
He was driving to visit his grandparents on a snowy evening. There was black ice on the road, a truck that could not slow down in time, and a moment that altered the rest of our lives. The details were hazy, but the outcome was not.
The accident left him unable to use his legs.
I remember the hospital vividly. The sharp, clean smell. The steady rhythm of machines. The way his hand trembled when I held it, like his body was still trying to understand what had happened. When the doctor explained his condition, the words felt unreal, like they were meant for someone else’s life, not ours.
“He will not walk again.”
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