It was impossible to count the number of times her husband had had to fearfully hover over her and make sure she was, indeed, still among the living. According to Andrew, she was no Sleeping Beauty. When she slumbered, she either looked like she was in excruciating pain or stone-cold dead. She hadn’t believed him until he took pictures and video to show her – mouth hanging open, cheeks hollowed, arm hanging over the side of the bed, her chest taking an interminable amount of time to inhale and exhale.

God, what she put him through.

She truly believed she’d survived everything and he’d never left her side because they were more stubborn than any ten mules combined. When things got bad, they took turns looking at the sky and saying, “Nice try, but it’s not gonna work. You can’t break me!” They refused to give up or split up. If her illnesses had given them one thing, it was stark awareness of just how tough they were, and how much they loved one another.

“You don’t fuck with Jersey,” Andrew had said many, many times, always with a wry smile.

She was so glad to wake up to him. Just his presence made the house…lighter.

Rubbing crud from her eyes, she said, “I was going to order Chinese.”

“Already taken care of. I got a pie from Milano’s. And a salad, if we want to pretend we’re eating healthy.”

Her mouth instantly watered. After a dozen surgeries on her digestive tract, food was not her friend.

However, a thin-crust pizza from Milano’s was something she could handle and a true slice of heaven. She and Andrew joked that she lived on their pizza, but they weren’t far off.

Kate kissed him on the lips and quickly turned away, covering her mouth.

“You’re the best,” she said.

“Anything for my little crip.”

People cringed when he called her that, but they could never understand. Everyone walked on eggshells around her. Andrew couldn’t afford to do that, so they indulged in their fair share of gallows humor. If you didn’t laugh, well, she’d done enough crying to fill a reservoir.

“Is my breath bad?”

He kissed her again. “Yep.”

She swatted at the back of his legs when he got up – and missed.

Andrew wasn’t wearing socks or shoes. Buttons trailed behind him, sensing food was coming. Andrew flipped the pizza box open.

“You want me to warm you up a slice?”

“I’ll take it like that.”

“Salad?”

“Sure. But not too much.”

“You can have my cucumbers,” he said, grabbing the dressing from the refrigerator.

“Don’t I always?”

He prepared her dinner on a folding wooden tray and placed it across her lap. Buttons sat looking up at her.

“No people food, buddy,” Andrew said. He opened a can of dog food. Buttons didn’t budge.