Ten Minutes to Lose His Wife

Summary

It took me eight years to walk my husband from locked doors, suicidal spirals, and shattered nerves all the way to the stage of the Musikverein in Vienna.

During his darkest winter, Gavin couldn’t even hold a cello bow without his fingers locking into violent, claw-like tremors. I was the one who kicked open the bathroom door when he locked himself inside; I was the one who sat on the cold tile, holding his shaking shoulders through the sweat and the dry heaves, pulling him back from the edge of oblivion night after night.