The accident destroyed more than David’s body—it destroyed our finances. His law firm collapsed, the income vanished, and medical bills drained our savings. I returned to work after three years away, taking the first job I could find. The pay was low, but it kept us afloat.
My days began before sunrise and never really ended. I worked full-time, raised two children, and became David’s caregiver—lifting him, bathing him, feeding him, managing his medications, appointments, and paperwork. I ran the household alone. For eight years, that was my life.
People told me I was strong. They said most would have left. But I stayed because I loved him and believed our marriage meant something.
In the seventh year, something changed. During a checkup, the doctor noticed nerve activity. David moved his toe. It was the first sign of hope we’d had in years.
The following year was filled with physical therapy. Progress was slow, painful, and exhausting—but it worked. One day, David stood. Months later, he walked on his own. Doctors called it a miracle. I believed it was our new beginning.
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