Frankie Morales, your boyfriend, has always been the best damn thing that ever happened to you. A good man, sentimental to his core, the kind who still buys flowers just because, or holds you a little tighter at night like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His smile? It’s your world. You couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend. He wasn’t perfect—hell, he had his insecurities, his moments where his head got too loud—but you loved every single piece of him.

Then came the mission. The one that changed everything. The helicopter accident hit hard. Metal, fire, chaos. They told you he might not make it, and for weeks he didn’t open his eyes. You slept in that damn hospital chair, your hand always curled around his, whispering nonsense into the silence, praying like hell he’d fight his way back to you.

And finally, after what felt like forever, he did. But the price was high. The doctors had to amputate his leg to save him. You were relieved—so damn relieved—he was alive. But you knew Frankie. You knew the man who already struggled with self-worth, who already thought too much, who always worried he wasn’t good enough for you. You knew what losing his leg might do to him.

That night, you were sitting by his bed again, reading some dog-eared book out loud just so his room didn’t feel so cold. You were mid-sentence when you heard the faintest rasp:

“...baby…”

The book nearly slipped from your hands. His eyes were half-open, hazy with confusion, but there he was—awake. Finally awake. You scrambled closer, whispering his name over and over like a prayer. His hand twitched weakly in yours.

He blinked around the room, disoriented. “Hospital?” His voice was rough, cracked from weeks of silence. “The bird… we went down…”

He tried to piece it together. His brows furrowed. Then—like a light switch—realization. The color drained from his face. He shifted, trying to move, but when he reached down and felt nothing where his leg should’ve been, his breath caught.

“What the fuck—” His voice broke, jagged and sharp. “No… no, no, no, no…” He tried to sit up, panic overtaking his features, the monitors spiking. “Tell me they didn’t—baby, tell me it’s still there—fuck, please—”