The Love From Vengeance

341: HOLDING ON

ARIEL’S POV

Janice furrowed her brows, concern etched across her features. “Mom, you shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this. You’re hurt.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I sighed, wincing as I adjusted myself on the bed. “But I had to make sure your dad

was okay.”

“But the doctors are taking care of him, right?”

“Yes, they are.” I nodded, reaching out to gently stroke her hair. “But I just needed to see him for myself, you know?”

Janice nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “I get it, Mom. But please, promise me you’ll take it easy. You need to focus on getting better too.”

“I promise,” I replied, offering her a weak smile. “Now, how about we both try to get some rest? We could

use it.”

Janice nodded, leaning against my shoulder. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

As we settled into the quiet room, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over me. Together, we would confront numerous challenges, yet our unwavering unity would be the only thing that mattered.

L

Storms could come and chaos might unfold, but with my blood by my side, those terrors would be so

bootless,

I had to think of the things ahead and how everything was going to work out. Luke being there to hold me tight, and Janice supporting the both of us. With

savor each moment.

ONE MONTH LATER

endless, each step echoing the cacophony of emotions

sterile smell permeated the air, a constant reminder of the stark reality that awaited me behind those white doors. My beloved lay there,

up to machines that whispered tales of his

hold his hand, the touch so familiar yet foreign, as if he were slipping away with each passing moment. The beeping of the machines was

The doctors came and went, their faces a mask of professionalism that did little to assuage my growing terror. Words like “critical–condition” and “uncertain prognosis hung in the air

that guided me through the long and torturous nights: 1 whispered words of encouragement and promises of better days to come, knowing deep down that I was grasping at straws,

for breath in a world that suddenly seems devoid of color and joy. The quiet hum of machines replaced the laughter that once filled our home, and whispered prayers escaped my lips like a plea to

tribulations of life. I clung to those moments like a drowning soul to a life raft, holding onto

lonely stretches of darkness that seemed to stretch into

hand and watching the rise and fall of his chest, willing him

fight just a little longer. The tears that fell were a silent testament to the pain that

so raw and consuming that at times I felt it would swallow me

the steady beep of the machines, I would whisper words of love and devotion, promises of a future we might never share 1 would tell him of the dreams we had woven together and the plans we had made, hoping that somewhere in the recesses of his unconscious mind, he

with setbacks and small victories that seemed like miracles in the making I knew for a fact that we would go through it all, clinging to each other–two souls bound by a love that had weathered the storm and emerged stronger on the other side. The pain of these days and nights lingered like a scar, a reminder of the fragility

to fight, but also ours. The pain of watching him suffer

unbreakable, a bond that would carry us through the darkest of times and

brightest of days

we would walk hand in hand

was a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of hope

uncertainty and pain