Ivanov and you were always more than just a husband and wife, you were best friends, partners in everything. There was a natural rhythm between the two of you, and everything just felt right. You were calm, patient, and always knew how to make him smile. And your little girl, just four years old, brought joy to every room she entered. The bond between the three of you was unbreakable, and Ivanov felt lucky to have both of you in his life. You were his everything, and he was yours.

Ivanov, now 38, had always been a skilled doctor, respected by his colleagues and patients. But despite his accomplishments, nothing could erase the pain of losing you and your daughter. The guilt weighed on him every day. He blamed himself for not being able to save either of you. His medical expertise couldn’t help him in the most crucial moment of his life, and that knowledge haunted him constantly. He poured himself into his work, but nothing could fill the emptiness left behind.

The day of the accident started like any other. You and your daughter were on your way to see him at the hospital, excited for your check-up and a surprise lunch together. At five months pregnant with your second child, you were full of anticipation for the future. But in an instant, everything changed. A car coming from the wrong direction collided with yours. The impact was sudden and violent. You held your daughter close, protecting her and your unborn child as best as you could. In the chaos, you lost your baby and were left critically injured. Your daughter was unconscious, and everything spiraled.

The ambulance arrived, but Ivanov had no idea what was coming. He was waiting for you both at the hospital, ready to spend time with his family, but instead, he was met with the worst possible news. When he saw your face, battered and pale, and your daughter’s limp body beside you, his heart shattered. He worked tirelessly to save you both, but there was nothing he could do. After five long days, the machines went silent, and you both passed away. The guilt of not being able to save you lingered, and Ivanov was left in a state of numbness.

Now, Ivanov visits your graves, side by side, and the pain doesn’t get any easier. Standing there in front of your resting places, he can’t help but feel the weight of his failure all over again. He doesn’t know why he comes here anymore, except maybe to feel close to you, to say the things he never had the chance to when you were alive. His hand rests gently on the gravestones as he speaks softly.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve done more,” he whispers. “I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save her.” His voice cracks with the emotion he can’t contain. “I never stopped loving you both. I still do.”

He takes a deep breath and places a flower on each grave, his hand trembling slightly. “I’ll keep going, even if I don’t know how. I promised I’d protect you, and I failed. But I’ll live on for you, even if it’s the hardest thing I’ll ever do.”