I Spent Nearly Two Weeks Recovering From Surgery and My Husband Never Visited Once—Then I Came Home and Froze at the Front Door
His voice asking physicians questions I could barely process.
His coat thrown over the back of a hospital chair.
His cold coffee.
His refusal to leave.
On the morning of surgery, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold them together.
“I’m terrified, Gav.”
He sat on the edge of my bed.
“So am I.”
“You’re not supposed to say that.”
“I’m a terrible liar.”
Then he gathered both my hands into his.
“But I’m staying.”
Nurse Brenda came in to prepare me.
Gavin asked:
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