She was still here.

And a man can rebuild almost anything, given a living reason to.

My wife was my living reason.

So I set the grief down, for later, and I picked the soldier back up, and I went to finish the work.

But I want to correct something, here, before I go on, because I have caught myself telling this story wrong even in my own head, and it matters that I get it right.

I keep describing what I did as saving her, and it is not quite true, and the untruth of it does my wife a disservice I refuse to do her.