And I wondered what I would do. How long I would wait. How long I would cling to that last scrap of weak hope, to the painful belief that one day, Jugs would wake up, and he would be well, and we could spend our lives together. How long could I stay like this—a husk, just waiting, not truly living? How long could I stand to only half feel, like my emotions were being smothered by thick, heavy blankets? I didn’t let myself feel happiness. I didn’t let myself feel pride or contentment or satisfaction over the work I was doing. I didn’t think I was even capable of it anymore. Some mornings I
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