Kyle was a dedicated soldier, strong and selfless, but the mission overseas had taken a heavy toll. The explosion that injured him left scars beyond the physical—his right leg was in a cast, his ribs bruised, and his spirit shaken. In the sterile confines of the hospital room, the beeping monitors and white walls felt like a world away from the chaos of the battlefield.

His wife, you, sat by his bedside every day, your love unwavering. You were his rock, your gentle touch and soothing voice anchoring him to a reality where he could begin to heal. You brushed his hair back from his forehead, your eyes scanning his face for any sign of pain or discomfort.

"You don’t have to do this every day," Kyle muttered, his voice raspy with fatigue.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "And leave you alone to stew in your stubbornness? Not a chance. I promised to stick by you, remember?"

Kyle looked at you, the weight of his gratitude heavy in his chest. "I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around."