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Angela.

I heard knocking on my door after half an hour. I was still wide awake, my mind racing with thoughts of Angelo and the camping trip my son was going on with him. "I can't believe I'm feeling this guilty," I whispered to myself, pacing back and forth. "Having a man in my house, in my room—it just doesn't feel right." My conscience was really bothering me, even though I knew I hadn't done anything wrong.

The truth is, I never cheated on Angelo, and not just because we weren't officially together. I simply never allowed any other man to get close to me—not emotionally, not physically. "I've loved him too much for too long," I told myself, looking at his photo on my nightstand. 

I spent years watching him from afar, waiting for what I thought would be the perfect moment to knock on his door and tell him everything. "The right time never seemed to come," I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. "And now I don't know what to do."

I flung the door open immediately and found my son standing there, tears streaming down his face. "Mom, come with me. Dad is dying," he pleaded, his voice breaking with each word. His small hands reached for mine, trembling with fear. "Please, Mom, hurry! Something's really wrong with him!"

I placed my hand against the doorframe, trying to steady myself as my legs threatened to give out. The shock hit me like a physical blow. My heart felt like it stopped for a moment as I tried to process what my son was saying. "This can't be happening," I thought, feeling dizzy.

I trembled visibly as I asked, "What happened? Dating?" My words didn't even make sense—I was so stunned I couldn't think straight. "I mean, what's going on with him? Is he sick?" I tried to clarify, my voice barely audible.

My son sobbed harder and grabbed my arm, pulling me forward with surprising strength. "Come with me right now! He's on the ground outside. He's not breathing properly," he explained between gasps. "I tried to wake him up, Mom, but he won't answer me. Please hurry!"

I ran immediately with my son, my heart pounding as we crossed the short street separating our homes. When we reached the campsite, I found Angelo collapsed on the ground beside the tent, barely breathing, his face pale in the moonlight. "Oh my God," I whispered, dropping to my knees beside him. "Angelo, can you hear me?"

I checked his eyes and eyelids, then felt for his pulse, my medical training kicking in despite my panic. He didn't look good, but I could tell he was still with us—he had just lost consciousness. "Calm down, son. He's okay," I said, trying to sound confident for my boy's sake. "I just need to drive him to the hospital right now. Could you help me get him to the car?" I asked, already trying to lift Angelo's shoulders. "We need to be really careful with him. Can you be my brave helper?"

Angelo's body was extremely heavy, but I was determined to manage it ourselves. "We can do this together," I told my son, positioning myself to take most of the weight. I couldn't bear to wait around for someone else to help us carry him or even for an ambulance to arrive. "Every minute counts," I explained to my son. "Sometimes being fast is better than waiting for help."

I just did it with my son's assistance, and thankfully, we both were incredibly careful and managed, with considerable effort, to get Angelo safely into the backseat of my car. "Good job, sweetie," I praised my son, squeezing his shoulder. "You're being so brave right now, just like your dad would want you to be."

I drove as quickly as I safely could, checking Angelo's pulse frequently. My son sat in the back, crying softly while holding his dad's hand. "Is Daddy going to be okay?" he asked repeatedly. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong with Angelo, but I prayed it wasn't something serious. "If anything happens to him," I thought to myself, "I'll cry for him every day for the rest of my life and never stop grieving." The very idea made my chest tighten painfully.

I tried my hardest not to break down, staying as strong as possible because I knew my son needed me to be his rock. He needed reassurance that everything would be fine with his father. "He just found his dad," I thought worriedly. "If something terrible happens now, it could traumatize him forever." I glanced in the rearview mirror at my son's tearful face. "He's going to be fine, sweetie. Your dad is very strong," I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

Angelo was truly our everything—the center of our universe. We needed him desperately, and we loved him more deeply than anyone else in the world, even though he hadn't been physically present in our lives before. "He's our missing piece," I whispered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "We can't lose him now that we've found him."

We finally arrived at the nearest medical facility, which happened to be Angelo Hospital. This was actually fortunate because in my panic, I had completely forgotten my wallet and identification back at the house. "At least they'll know him here," I thought, screeching to a halt near the emergency entrance.

I jumped out of the car and screamed for assistance, my voice echoing in the night air. "Please help us right away! It's Doctor Angelo Knight. He's blacked out in my car!" I shouted, waving frantically at the emergency staff. "He needs immediate medical attention! Please hurry!"

And thankfully, everyone responded instantly—nurses and doctors rushed to the car, carefully lifted him onto a gurney, and ran with him toward the ICU. I quickly asked my son to stay in the waiting area, then followed the medical team, telling them, "Please let me in with him. I'm a doctor too. I can help if needed." I was desperate to stay by Angelo's side.

One of the attending physicians shook his head firmly. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow that right now," he stated, blocking my path. "We need space to work. Please wait outside with your son."

I straightened my back and shouted with authority, "I'm his wife! Let me in right now!" My voice was no longer asking—I was commanding them. The desperation made me bold in a way I'd never been before. "I have every right to be with him!"

The medical staff looked skeptical and exchanged glances until Nathan started crying loudly behind me, calling out, "Daddy! Daddy! I want my daddy!" His heartbreaking wails echoed through the corridor. I think my son's obvious distress and his way of calling Angelo "daddy" convinced them I wasn't making things up. I wasn't technically Angelo's wife in the legal sense, but in my heart, I was completely his, and he was mine, and we shared a wonderful son together! I was determined to stay by his side no matter what the circumstances. I never put my own safety first when it came to him—even if he had been diagnosed with a highly contagious disease, I would have remained steadfastly by his side.

They finally relented and permitted me to join them in the ICU. I positioned myself at the back of the room, not wanting to interfere with their work unless they specifically needed another pair of hands for a surgical procedure. I watched anxiously as they assessed him, my medical knowledge making the situation even more frightening.

The lead doctor suddenly announced, "He needs blood immediately." His tone was urgent as he reviewed the lab results.

"Why?" I asked, confused and alarmed. It seemed like an unusual first step without more information.

The doctor looked up from the chart. "His hemoglobin level is down to seven—that's dangerously low," he explained. "We need to stabilize him before we can address the underlying cause."

I raised my hand without hesitation, stepping forward. "Okay, I can donate right now," I offered. "Take whatever you need from me." I was already rolling up my sleeve, ready to help in any way possible.

The doctor acknowledged my offer with a nod. "That's helpful, but there's more going on here. We need to investigate his heart function—I suspect there's a cardiac issue involved." He turned to consult with his colleagues in hushed tones.

"Could it possibly be his heart valves? Might he need valve surgery?" I questioned, trying to think clinically despite my shaking hands and racing heart. I couldn't maintain my professional demeanor completely—every part of me was terrified for the man I loved.

I could tell my suggestion sparked something among the medical team. They exchanged meaningful glances and rapidly conferred with one another before announcing, "He needs emergency heart surgery right away. First, we'll need to transfuse enough blood to stabilize his condition, then proceed with the operation." Their voices were calm but urgent as they began preparations.

Everything happened at lightning speed after that. I donated blood immediately, and the hospital mobilized other donors and the blood bank to help meet the need. Angelo remained unconscious, almost comatose, but his condition began to stabilize slightly once the transfusions started working. When his hemoglobin reached ten and his vital signs showed improvement, the surgical team sprang into action to address the heart issue.

I had to leave the operating room when the actual surgery began. It had already been several exhausting hours, and I needed to check on my son and comfort him. I also finally allowed myself to break down and cry where my son couldn't see me. "Please don't take him from us," I prayed, sobbing in a private corner of the waiting room. "We just found him."

After more than eight grueling hours, the surgeons finally emerged from the operating room, wiping sweat from their tired faces. I immediately jumped up from my chair, my heart in my throat. "How's Angelo doing now? Is he going to be okay?" My voice cracked with emotion and exhaustion.

They gave me cautiously optimistic smiles. "Mission accomplished for now," the lead surgeon said. "But as you know from your medical background, we'll need to watch him closely during the critical recovery period."

I nodded, completing his thought. "Yes, he needs to make it through the next forty-eight hours without complications." I glanced at my son, who had finally fallen asleep in his chair, emotionally drained from the traumatic day. "Poor baby," I thought. "He's just a child—he shouldn't have to deal with all this fear and uncertainty."

I turned back to the doctors and suggested, "I'd like to stay by his bedside during recovery. I can monitor him and alert you to any changes." I was already gathering my things, prepared to camp out in his room for as long as necessary.

"There's really no need for that," one of the nurses replied. "We have staff who will monitor him around the clock."

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "He's the father of my son. Please let me stay with him." I wasn't going to take no for an answer. As far as I was concerned, I was already his wife in my heart, or would be soon if I had anything to say about it. I absolutely refused to let him face this alone or, God forbid, die without me by his side. "I need to be there when he wakes up."

After securing permission to stay, I called my father and explained the entire situation. "Dad, I need you to come take Nathan home," I said quietly. "He should stay away from the hospital for at least a week. This is too hard on him." My father agreed without hesitation.

For the next several days, I remained constantly at Angelo's bedside, doing nothing but praying and watching over him. I barely ate anything, couldn't think about sleep—I just waited desperately for him to regain consciousness and return to me and our son. "Come back to us," I whispered, holding his hand. "We need you so much."

Finally, after four long, agonizing days, his eyelids fluttered open, and he looked directly at me. He coughed immediately, his throat obviously dry and sore from the breathing tube that had been removed earlier. When he coughed again, I quickly leaned forward, gently touching his arm. "Don't try to talk now, Angelo. You need to rest and recover your strength," I advised softly, relief flooding through me at seeing him awake.

But he seemed determined to speak despite my warning. He forced the words out with visible effort, his voice raspy and weak but his message devastatingly clear: "Get out of my life."

I froze, feeling like he'd just stabbed me in the heart. "What?" I whispered, unable to believe what I'd just heard after everything we'd been through.