Guess what? It’s my turn now.”
Trevor waltzed back into the hospital room with his signature confidence, carrying a takeout bag and a grin that made my skin crawl now that I saw it for what it was—surface-deep. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, placing the bag on the table.
“Got your favorite—pad Thai with extra peanuts. Thought you’d need some cheering up after… you know, the big moment.”
I swallowed hard, summoning tears that weren’t difficult to fake given the storm brewing inside me. “Trevor,” I murmured, my voice trembling, “I need to tell you something.”
His grin faltered.
“What is it?”
I let out a shaky breath, looking away like I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “The doctors… they said I had a stroke. Stress-induced.
And…” I paused for effect, lowering my voice, “it caused paralysis.”
“What?” His tone was sharp, his smile vanishing completely. I nodded solemnly. “It’s bad, Trevor.
They think it might be… permanent.”
“Wait… paralysis?” he stammered. His face twisted in a way I’d never seen before, a mix of shock and something far less noble—panic. “Yes,” I said softly, letting the words hang in the air.
“But how lucky I am to have such a loving husband-to-be by my side through this, right?”
He froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. “Uh… right, yeah. Of course,” he said, his tone a few notches higher than usual.
I reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. “Trevor, what if this is forever? What if I never get better?”
He pulled his hand back as if it burned.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. I mean, we should… probably postpone the wedding. Just until you’re back on your feet, of course.”
I stared at him, my heart hardening with every word.
“What if I’m never back on my feet, Trevor?”
He mumbled something incoherent about needing air, then bolted from the room, leaving the takeout bag untouched. I sat there in the sterile silence, staring at the door he didn’t return through. And that was the moment I knew.
It wasn’t love. It never had been. Dr.
Lucas and I kept crossing paths after that day. At first, it was casual—him checking on me during follow-ups, a shared coffee in the hospital cafeteria. But those moments grew into something I hadn’t felt in years: safety.
One afternoon, as we sat on a park bench near the hospital, he said something that stayed with me forever. “Emily, love isn’t a test. It’s a choice.
And it’s not about someone proving they deserve you—it’s about someone showing they’ll choose you every single day.”
That was the moment I knew Trevor was just a chapter in my story, not the book. A year after Trevor bolted from the hospital, Lucas and I sent him an invitation—not to our wedding, mind you, but to a psychiatric evaluation. “I thought it was more fitting,” Lucas said with a wry smile, sliding the envelope into the mailbox.
We married six months later, surrounded by people who genuinely loved us. Now, three decades and three children later, I sit here cradling my first grandchild. My eldest just became a father, the best gift for our 30th anniversary.
Lucas leans over, brushing a kiss on my cheek. “Still think love’s a test?” he teases softly. I laugh, holding his hand.
“Only if you’re failing it.”
Source: amomama
