For twelve years, I gave my everything. Every morning started with his medication, a warm towel, and a gentle kiss to his forehead. I washed his face, trimmed his nails, and sometimes even read his old books aloud just to hear his chuckle again. Through the slow withering of his body, I stayed. I believed that love, no matter how burdened, would be enough. And then, in his final breath, he said something that made my hands tremble. He turned his pale face to mine and whispered a truth I hadn’t dared admit even to myself.
As sunlight peeked through the curtains, I glanced at the clock. Today marked another day of caring for Henry. I started by organizing his medications and preparing a warm towel. 'Good morning, Henry,' I said softly, placing the towel on his forehead. He offered a faint smile, and I continued with the routine. The day was shaped around his needs, like always. I tucked a blanket around him gently, knowing my time was entirely his.