That small mix-up turned into a conversation. We talked until my coffee went cold. His name was Daniel. He was gentle, attentive, and had that rare way of listening that made you feel like the only person in the world.

From that day on, we kept meeting. Coffee dates turned into dinners, dinners into weekend trips, and before long, every day with him felt like a celebration. I wanted to marry him, to introduce him to my family, to share every sunrise and sunset for the rest of my life.

But a year before our wedding, tragedy struck.

I remember the night vividly — a midnight phone call that jolted me awake, the tremor in his friend’s voice, the cold wave of fear that made it hard to breathe. Daniel had been in a serious accident. He survived… but lost the ability to walk.

For days, I sat beside his hospital bed, holding his hand while machines beeped softly in the background. I didn’t care about the chair. I didn’t care about the changes. I was just grateful he was alive.