No nurse suggested it. No doctor said it would help her healing. He just did it—slowly, carefully, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was exactly where he was always meant to be.
She was tired. You could see it in her face, the way her hands barely held his. But she smiled when he wrapped his arms around her like that. Like decades hadn’t passed, like nothing had changed, even though everything had.
He didn’t care about the beeping machines, the sterile smell, or the uncomfortable angle of that hospital bed. He didn’t care that visiting hours were technically over. He just knew one thing:
This wasn’t about flowers or anniversaries or grand gestures. It was about showing up, even when your legs ache and the world’s quiet and nobody else is watching.