That’s what love looked like, or at least that’s what I thought.
This is what devotion looked like.
My best friend, Marissa, wasn’t convinced.
“Gina, you’ve shrunk,” Marissa said one afternoon, sitting across from me at the kitchen table. “You used to argue with me about everything. Now you just wait for Brian to decide.”
“I know you did. But did you review the clinical trial I sent you?”
“Brian says it’s very unlikely. He doesn’t want me to get my hopes up.”
My friend remained silent.
“So, what do you want?”
I had no answer.
At some point, I stopped asking myself that question.
For years, specialists had told me there was nothing they could do.
A month earlier, Marissa had told me about an experimental laser procedure offered as part of a clinical program. The doctors had warned me that success wasn’t guaranteed, and Brian insisted I should prepare myself for disappointment.
Nevertheless, I brought up the subject during dinner.
Brian put his fork down on the table. “Honey, we’ve already talked about this.”
“I know. I was just thinking…”
“You’re going to have your heart broken,” she said, and I recognized that familiar tension in her voice again. “I don’t want to see you fall apart when it doesn’t work out.”
I let out a slow sigh.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” I said. “Marissa is ready to help me during my recovery, whatever the outcome.”
—Marissa— my husband repeated in a monotone voice. —Of course.
He did not refuse again.
