You Can Keep The Boy

Summary

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my acute cholecystitis flared up.

I was curled in agony on a cold hospital bench, sending a dozen texts to Helena. None of them went through—or rather, none were answered. Just as I was about to sign my own surgical consent form, my screen lit up. It was a video from Cody.

In the video, Helena was holding a heavy blue moving box for him. Her voice, usually so clipped with me, was incredibly tender: "Let me grab that, don't strain yourself."