Young Daniel stood beside a bed.
Twenty-five years old.
Terrified.
Holding someone’s hand.
Joanna.
Her hair had been shaved on one side.
Bandages covered part of her head.
She looked exhausted.
Fragile.
But she was smiling.
A man stood beside the bed holding a Bible.
Two nurses stood near the wall.
I turned toward Daniel.
“What am I watching?”
He didn’t look at me.
“A wedding.”
My whole body went cold.
“You said she wasn’t your wife.”
“Legally, she wasn’t.”
On the television, the man with the Bible began speaking.
There were no flowers.
No wedding guests.
No music.
No white dress.
Just a hospital bed.
A frightened young man.
A badly injured young woman.
And two nurses trying not to cry.
Daniel whispered:
“She asked me.”
I stared at the screen.
“She knew she might not recover?”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed?”
“Immediately.”
“Why wasn’t it legal?”
