Weeks became months. Family visited less. Nurses came and went. She remained.
Then one afternoon, a miracle. His fingers tightened around hers. His eyes opened slowly, then focused. He motioned for her to come closer.
Tears streamed down her face as she leaned in. His voice, raspy, weak, barely a whisper, carried across the room:
“You know something?”
She nodded, heart racing.
“You’ve been with me through every tough moment in my life. When I lost my job… when my business failed… when I got shot… when we lost the house… and when my health started failing… you never left.”
Her chest swelled. She squeezed his hand, overwhelmed.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered. “What are you trying to say?”
He inhaled, looked her straight in the eye, and said:
“I think you’re cursed.”
A beat. Then laughter—honest, loud, impossible not to join.
“Well,” she said, smiling, “then I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Love isn’t always poetry or grand gestures. Sometimes it’s staying. Sometimes it’s humor in the middle of chaos. And sometimes… it’s realizing that even after months in a hospital bed, he still knows exactly how to get himself in trouble.
Share this story with someone who needs a reminder that love isn’t perfect—it’s persistent, hilarious, and sometimes downright cursed.