So many nights I have lain awake wondering if we’d ever reach this point. But here we are as relief, gratitude, and love overwhelms me.
“You’ve already made it through the hardest part. From here on, it’s about healing and I’ll be right here for every step.”
He exhales slowly. “Good, because I don’t think I could’ve done this without you. Knowing you were waiting for me…it kept me steady, even when I was scared. Guess I’m tougher with you around.”
We both chuckle at his comment before the silence falls around us. In the quiet room, I realize this is what peace feels like. It’s not about the absence of struggle, but the presence of love that survived it. And as I rest my head against his shoulder, I know deep in my bones that our winding journey has finally brought us home.
50
TEDDY
MAY 23
It’s been two months since my surgery, and my best corrected vision is still considered legally blind. Before the operation, everything was muted. Now, colors and shapes are visible. My new favorite shade is the dark blue of Ivy’s hair. I asked her to keep it that color a bit longer so I can finally admire it, even if the details are blurry.
The fact remains that I won’t have my vision back like it used to be. I have days when the grief nearly paralyzes me. I miss the game and the version of myself who knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going. I miss the sense of confidence that wasn’t tied to a thousand other things.
Ivy once told me healing doesn’t always look like getting better. Oftentimes it’s about becoming yourself again. I don’t know exactly what my future holds, but my goal is to keep finding color in the world around me. More than anything, I want to keep doing life with her by my side. She never glosses over the hard parts, giving me space when I need extra time to find my footing. She also paints the world for me in words when I ask her.
Pouring a cup of coffee for Ivy, I leave it on the counter to cool and turn back to the stove. I keep one hand on the counter’s edge until I find the handle of the pan, brushing my fingertips lightly against the side to make sure it’s centered on the burner. The eggs hiss softly, a sound that tells me they’re close to being done. I give them a slow stir, keeping my grip steady on the handle. When the edges firm up beneath the spatula, I slide the pan off the heat. The toaster clicks behind me, and I turn to grab the slices, spreading butter over them while they’re still hot.
A floorboard creaks, followed by the familiar rhythm of footsteps moving across the hardwood, making their way down the stairs. “Morning.” She wraps her arms around my waist from behind.
“Morning,” I echo, setting down the butter knife. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, but the bed feels empty without you.”
Her cheek presses between my shoulder blades, and I reach behind me to brush her hip. “Coffee is ready and so is breakfast. Hopefully I’m not serving you burnt food.”
“I bet it’s amazing.”
“It’s still hot, so eat carefully,” I warn.
“I was born to live on the edge.”
I laugh and the sound comes easier. I’m fond of the upgraded version of me I’ve become with her in my life. We settle at the kitchen island, plates in front of us. The sun is starting to slant through the blinds, catching the blue in her hair, making it glow.
She reaches for her coffee and sighs. “I love when you make breakfast.”
“Save the commentary until you survive the first bite.”
“No, I mean it. It’s the domesticity I’m weak for.”
That gives me a perfect opening. “You know what else might make you weak?”
“Doing the laundry and mixing all our colors together?” she suggests playfully.
“Not what I had in mind.” I grin around the next bite. “But I’ve gotten used to you being here most nights.”
“Same.”
“Your toothbrush is in the bathroom. You now have two drawers in my dresser. Three if you count the one you stole when I wasn’t looking.”
“Mmhm.”
“I’m pretty sure my neighbors think you live here,” I add nervously.
“Is this your subtle way of kicking me out?”
