The night had settled softly over the house, wrapping it in a blanket of calm. Outside, the crickets sang in steady rhythm, while inside, the faint hum of the ceiling fan carried through the quiet rooms.
Dinner was finished. Jacob had insisted on doing the dishes, clattering plates noisily as if to cover his emotions from earlier. Ann had guided Dennis to the couch, his crutches propped nearby, his body still heavy with exhaustion but his eyes brighter than they had been in months.
The lamp beside them glowed warmly, casting a golden circle around their little world.
Ann sat close, her hand resting lightly on his. "You walked today," she said softly, her voice reverent. "Do you realize what that means?"
Dennis gave a faint laugh, though it was tinged with weariness. "That my legs still remember their job, even if they're stubborn?"
She shook her head, smiling through her tears. "That you're stronger than you think."
Jacob entered then, drying his hands with a towel. "And that I'm out of excuses. Now you'll expect me to keep up with you on walks, huh?" He winked, but his grin softened into something more tender as he looked at his cousin. "I'm proud of you, Dennis."
Dennis lowered his gaze, emotion tightening his chest. Praise was something he hadn't allowed himself to believe he deserved lately. "I almost fell halfway through," he murmured.
"But you didn't," Ann countered firmly, lifting his chin gently. "You found the wall, you steadied yourself, and you kept going. That's what matters."
Jacob flopped into the armchair across from them. "She's right, you know. Life's not about walking without stumbling— it's about getting up after."
Dennis gave him a wry look. "When did you get so philosophical?"
Jacob grinned. "Ever since I realized someone in this house needs to be the wise one. Can't always leave it to Ann."
Ann laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension in Dennis's chest. But when Jacob excused himself soon after— muttering something about calling a friend— an intimate silence settled between the two of them.
Dennis leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. "Ann," he began slowly, "do you ever… imagine what life will be like? If I never recover fully?"
Her fingers tightened around his hand. She had been expecting this question, yet it still pierced her heart. "Yes," she whispered. "I imagine it every day. And I imagine myself with you, no matter what shape that life takes."
He turned his head toward her, searching her face for any trace of hesitation. "But it won't be easy. You'll be carrying more weight than you should have to. I don't want you to wake up one day and regret—"
"Stop." Her voice was gentle but firm, cutting through his fears. "Dennis, I chose you long before any of this happened. And I will keep choosing you— whether you're walking on your own, leaning on crutches, or needing me to steady you. I don't see weakness when I look at you. I see the man who makes my life brighter."
His throat tightened, words tangled in emotion. He had fought so long with the idea that his brokenness would ruin her life. But hearing her speak with such conviction made a warmth bloom in his chest.
"I don't know if I can give you the life you deserve," he admitted softly.
Ann smiled through tears, brushing his cheek tenderly. "You already do. Every time you fight, every time you push past fear, every time you let me walk beside you— you're giving me more than I could ever ask for."
Silence settled again, but it was no longer heavy. It was tender, filled with unspoken promises.
Finally, Dennis exhaled and whispered, "Then maybe… maybe we can start dreaming again."
Ann's eyes lit up, her smile trembling with hope. "Tell me one of your dreams, Dennis."
He thought for a long moment before answering, his voice quiet but steady. "I want to walk with you in the park near the old university. Just us. No crutches, no wheelchair. Just… me holding your hand, like I used to."
Ann leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Then we'll work until we get there. And when that day comes, Dennis, it'll be the most beautiful walk of our lives."
He closed his eyes, letting her warmth and certainty anchor him. For the first time in months, the future didn't look like a storm. It looked like a path— narrow, uncertain, but lined with light.
And as the crickets sang and the lamp glowed softly, Dennis realized that hope no longer felt like a stranger.
It felt like home.