Archive of Our Own

Kettering

"And I didn’t believe them when they told me that there’s no saving you."

Caitlin sat on the edge of the paper-covered exam bed, the crinkle beneath her legs feeling loud and uncomfortable. Her body was still, hands folded neatly in her lap, as if holding herself together. Harry stood off to the side, near the wall, his arms crossed so tightly across his chest it looked like he was holding himself in place.

The neurologist’s voice was calm, deliberate. But the words that were coming from his mouth were something Harry utterly hated. 

ALS. Progressive. No cure. Supportive care only.

He didn’t bother listening to the rest of the medical jargon he had to say and everything blurred into a low, meaningless hum. No cure wasn’t a possibility he recognized. There was always an option. Always another step — the next drug, the next trial.  His career had been built on refusing to accept “impossible.”

“No,” he said sharply, before he even finished. “There’s always something. New trials, experimental therapies, there has to be something.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wells, but—”

Harry didn’t dare look at her.

Caitlin didn’t look at the doctor either. She was staring at her left hand, her thumb slowly turning her wedding band around her finger in small, careful motions. She liked to play with her ring. It always made her smile that his name was engraved on the inner side, always making contact with her skin. 

She didn’t need to hear more. She had seen this before, in her father, the gradual weakening of muscles, the slowing of speech, the loss of movement, and finally the silence at the end. She knew what was coming. She knew what it would do to her. And she knew what it would do to Harry to watch it happen.

That thought, that she would fade in his arms and he would stand there and watch her unable to do anything was worse than the diagnosis itself.

The neurologist kept talking, explaining the stages, the management options, the support groups. Words that felt like pre-written condolences. Rehearsed to be said in situations like this. She knew that very well. She was a doctor herself before she delved into research and working alongside her husband in STAR Labs. Caitlin nodded politely at the right times. Harry said nothing, the muscle in his jaw flexing every few seconds.

When the appointment ended, they left without a word.

The drive home was silent except for the city sounds. Harry kept both hands on the wheel, his eyes fixed forward. His knuckles were pale from the force of his grip. Caitlin didn’t push him to talk, she knew that look, knew he was building a wall inside himself brick by brick, holding everything back until it spilled out in ways neither of them could control.

When they opened the door of their apartment, their dog climbed on Cait, his tail wagging wildly. Caitlin dropped to her knees without thinking, burying her fingers into the warm thickness of his fur. The dog pressed into her, and she let his warm, steady presence calm her. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry walk past them without stopping, his gaze fixed on the door ahead of him.

“Harry…” she called softly.

“Not now,” he said, not turning back.

The bathroom door shut behind him, and he turned on the faucet. Not because he needed the water, because he didn’t want her to hear him break. Inside, Harry’s hands gripped the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white. He hated that he couldn’t hide this from her, hated that she could probably still hear it in the way he breathed.

She stood there for a moment, torn between knocking and letting him have his space. In the end, she turned toward the living room. Pushing him before he was ready only made him close himself off further.

Caitlin walked to the record player that sat in the corner of the living room. She pulled out her favorite vinyl and set the needle down. She laid down on the couch, the dog hopping up beside her, curling along her legs, his head rested on her thigh.

At some point, her eyes closed, the music and the weight of the day pulled her under.

She woke to Harry’s voice. He was visibly furious.

“No, I cannot wait until March. I need to book an appointment within the next few days.”

She sat up, listening. A moment later, the phone call ended with a thud as Harry slammed it down, followed by a punch against the wall.

“Harry…” she said softly as she approached. “There’s no need for any more doctors.”

He turned to her. “No. You can’t say that.”

“I mean it,” she replied gently. “No more doctors. Not like this.”

“You’re giving up already?” He was frustrated.

“It’s not giving up,” she said. “It’s… shifting focus. She stepped closer and reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away, but his fingers stayed tense in hers. “While I’m still me, we can do things, before this disease takes too much. We can go places. We can be who we were.”

She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world to just… accept. To trade the fight for some kind of farewell tour. He hated it. He hated that she sounded so reasonable when all he wanted was to break down doors until someone, somewhere, had an answer.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Greece,” she said softly. “I would like for us to go.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. He wanted to tell her it was impossible right now. That there was work, that there were things to try, doctors to see. But the truth was the thought of her on a sunlit street by the Aegean made his chest ache. He could see her there, smiling, the wind pulling at her hair, her eyes free of the shadow that had settled over them today.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have my voice, or my legs,” she added. “But right now, I have them. And I want to use them.”

Harry’s eyes searched hers, his jaw still tight, but something shifting behind his eyes.

He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.

Sylvia

“I only talk when you are sleeping, that’s when I tell you everything and imagine that somehow you’re gonna hear me.”

Harry had memorized the sound of her breathing. It was strange, the things you started to notice when the clock on someone’s life was suddenly counting backwards. In the day, her breaths were measured and needed effort. At night, they smoothed out, almost peaceful, as if sleep gave her body permission to rest.

She’d fallen asleep on the couch again. She was getting tired easily. One arm dangled over the cushion, fingers twitching slightly, not because of a dream, but from the disease. A lamp in the corner casted golden light over the room, catching on the lines of her face, oh her beautiful face. 

During the day, he never said much. Harry stuck to the facts, about her meals, the appointments with the doctors, her progress at the labs since she was still actively working beside him. He couldn’t trust himself to go deeper without breaking.

But at night, when she slept… that was different. That was when he talked to her.

Harry sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to wake her. His eyes followed the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Earlier that day in the lab, it had happened again. She’d been leaning over her workbench, pen in hand, writing careful notes on a pad when it slipped through her fingers. She had stopped writing on her board because the strain of standing up was too much on her knees. She’d picked it up quickly, muttering a soft “I’m fine” before he could comment. The second time it fell, her lips tightened. The third time, she froze for just a beat too long before crouching to retrieve it.

Harry had stayed where he was, his silence heavy. He’d wanted to move to her side, to take the pen and help her finish the work, but he knew she would hate that more than the tremor itself. So he had swallowed his instinct and let the moment pass. The truth was, it wasn’t just the pen. The tremor had been getting worse, and yesterday she’d tripped over nothing in the kitchen.

“You scared me today,” he murmured. “That pen… you dropped it three times. You laughed it off, but I saw your face. You hated it.”

Her breathing stayed even.

“I hate this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “Not you. I hate that I can’t stop it. I hate that I can’t give you more time. I hate that I have to watch you lose something new every week. And I hate that I can only say this when you’re asleep, like it’s a secret you’re not supposed to hear.”

He reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered against her skin for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth anchoring him.

“I know,” he started, “I know you don’t want me to treat you differently. But I don’t know how not to. I am supposed to stand by you, I am supposed to protect you.”

Caitlin could feel the warmth near her face, a shadow in the lamplight. She thought she heard Harry’s voice. She was too tired and couldn’t catch the words, but something in his tone told her they were for her.

He stayed there until his back began to ache from the awkward position, until the dog that laid next to Caitlin's thighs opened one eye to glance at him before settling back down.

The next morning, she woke to the smell of coffee. She sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. From the kitchen came the soft clink of mugs and the sound of a spoon stirring around one of them.

Harry looked focused. She knew that meant his mind was somewhere else entirely. 

“Morning,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Morning.”

She watched him pour coffee into two mugs. “You sleep okay?” he asked with concern.

“I dreamed you were talking to me,” she said, her voice light.

His hands stilled for half a second. “Dreamed?”

“Mm.” She smiled faintly. “You sounded worried. But it was… nice. Like you were telling me something important.”

He set the spoon down carefully. “What do you think I said?”

“That you love me. And that you’re scared.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he placed the mug in front of her and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Drink up before it gets cold.”

She took it, letting her fingers brush his as she did. She didn’t press him. She already knew.

Atrophy

“Someone, oh anyone tell me how to stop this — she’s screaming, expiring, and I’m her only witness.”

The tremor in her hands had worsened. She gripped the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright as she tried to move from the kitchen to the living room, her body swaying just slightly as she tried to move. Harry was beside her in seconds, an arm at her waist.

“Let me help you.”

“I’ve got it,” she said, her voice low, strained.

She didn’t.

He guided her to the couch, ignoring the glare she gave him when she sat.

By the time she reached the couch, her breathing was shallow. She lowered herself onto the cushions, jaw tight. 

At the lab, she’d noticed it too, the shaking hands, the small hesitations, the way she’d started to avoid tasks that once felt effortless. Dropping things, misreading measurements, catching herself on counters when her balance faltered. She could feel eyes on her, colleagues who cared but didn’t know how to hide their concern.

“I think I should stop working,” she said finally. She had been thinking about it for weeks, and the words tasted bitter even before she spoke them. She loved her work. 

Harry looked at her like she’d just suggested erasing part of herself. “Stop?”

“I’m making mistakes, Harry” she said quietly. “I can’t-”

“No.” His voice was sharp enough to cut. “We can adapt the lab. Modify equipment. You don’t just… quit.”

“This isn’t about pride, Harry. It’s about safety. I’m going to hurt myself or ruin something important.”

She could see that this was harder on him than it was for her. And she knew why. Stopping from work meant that they were accepting what was happening to her, and he wasn’t remotely ready to do that. 

“There are treatments. Trials. You haven’t tried half of what’s out there.”

She met his eyes without flinching. “And they’ll do what? Help me die slower, not live longer.”

The silence after that was thick. His jaw tightened, and she could see the muscle working there, the unspoken words that he wanted to offer as an argument. Harry wanted to tell her she was wrong. That time, any time, was worth fighting for. But looking at her, flushed from the effort of moving across the room, hands trembling in her lap, he couldn’t make the words come out.

“I’m still me right now,” she added softly. “I want to spend what I have left living, not hooked up to machines chasing miracles that don’t exist.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped, just slightly. He looked down because if he looked at her right now he knew he would say something he would probably regret. She reached for his hand. Her fingers laced through his, holding tightly. “Harry,” she said, but he didn’t raise his head to find her face. She called his name again and he closed his eyes, shaking his head, doing his best not to break. “Please look at me,” she asked him. When he did, she saw tears in the base of his eyes. She moved her trembling thumbs under his glasses and wiped them. He leaned on her touch and she stroked his cheeks that were rough with stubble. 

“Don’t do this,” she started. “At least not yet, not while I can still talk and hold you. Not while we are still us.” 

He knew she was right. She leaned forward and pressed a small, hesitant kiss on his lips. She wasn’t sure if she was appealing to him the way she was before all this. Before the tremor and the weakening muscles.  

Her voice barely above a whisper, “please show me we’re still Caitlin and Harry.”

He didn’t ask what she meant. He knew.

“Remind me we’re real,” she said. “Right now. Before things… before I change.”

For a moment, he simply looked at her, the woman he had built a life with, the one he’d thought he would grow old beside. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw as though memorizing it.

The kiss was slow. Not desperate, not rushed but deliberate. His mouth moved against hers with the care of someone holding something fragile. Her hands found his shoulders, sliding to his back, pulling him closer.

It wasn’t about pretending nothing was wrong. It wasn’t about distraction. It was about being here, now, together. About the love that had always been theirs.

They lay together afterward, the rhythm of her breathing came back slower than normal. Caitlin rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest.

“Still us,” she murmured.

“Always,” he said.

When she fell asleep, he finally let himself cry.

Bear

“We’re too old, we’re not old at all, just too old, we’re not old at all.”

They spent most of the day in separate rooms, the argument from the morning still hanging over them. Caitlin was sitting in silence in the living room, the dog curled beside her. Her legs ached from walking earlier; the muscles just didn’t recover the way they used to. She ran her fingers through his fur trying to distract herself.

It was safer than thinking about the fact that she was slipping.

The sound of Harry’s footsteps broke the quiet. They were slower than usual, heavier. She looked up just as he stopped in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His face was tired in a way she hadn’t seen before, not just from work, but from carrying something too big for too long.

They had fought again over Caitlin’s denial to try a clinical trial from a European university that Harry had suggested or rather insisted for her to try. 

She looked up, and their eyes met.

She looked… smaller. Not in the way she’d lost weight (she had, but it was not that visible yet) but in the way she curled into herself. He had hurt her.

He crossed the room and sat beside her, staring at his hands for a long moment before speaking, afraid that if he spoke, everything inside him would spill out.

“You were supposed to outlive me.” He said quietly. Her brow furrowed.

“I’m older than you,” he continued, voice low. “That’s how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to go first. Not you. This isn’t right.” He saw an elderly couple on the street today during his morning run for coffee. And all he thought was that he and Caitlin would be robbed of that.

The words landed deep in her chest. She wanted to tell him no one could make those kinds of promises, that life didn’t work like that. But the rawness in his voice stopped her.

“I can’t lose you, Caitlin. I can’t. I am sorry for yelling at you to try the trial. I just don’t know what I am supposed to do anymore. Do you understand? I can’t watch you fade away.”

Caitlin felt her chest ache at the desperation in his voice. For a moment, the disease felt secondary and what mattered was the man in front of her, the one who had always been her safe place.

And now, he was the one unraveling.

He had held it together for months. He had been the one who made calls, found specialists, and kept his voice steady. But now the words caught in his throat, and he couldn’t stop them.

Before she could reply, he lowered his head into her lap. It startled her at first — Harry never made himself this vulnerable. But then she felt it: the quiet tremor in his shoulders, the way his hands clutched at the fabric of her sweater. He had finally broken apart. The sobs came hard and fast, shaking his whole body. He felt her hand slide into his hair, stroking his head gently, even though her hands trembled.

She bent forward, resting her forehead against the crown of his head, letting her fingers trace slow lines through his hair.

“I’m here,” she whispered. 

His voice was ragged when he finally spoke. “I keep thinking I can do something. That I can outthink this. That I can find a way to make you stay.”

She stroked his hair again, her own eyes stinging.

“I’m still here,” she repeated softly.

Her voice was soft, but it cut straight through him. The worst part was knowing she meant it in the present tense. Not I’ll always be here , just I’m here, right now . For a moment, the fear eased, and all he could feel was the warmth of her hand and the truth that, at least right now, she was still his.

They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the dog’s sigh as he shifted beside them.

Thirteen

“Pull me out, pull me out. Can’t you stop this from happening?”

It was gradual. Everyday, a little bit of her would fade away. That was the worst part. You didn’t wake up one morning and see the whole cliff in front of you — you just felt the ground tilt a little more every day.

The way her hand hovered before reaching for a cup, as if she had to calculate whether she could lift it without spilling. How long it took her to get from the bedroom to the kitchen now.

The muscles in her legs weren’t what they used to be. Even walking across the room left her short of breath now, and her words came slower than her thoughts.

She would catch Harry watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking — studying her like he was trying to memorize every movement, every expression. At first, it made her self-conscious. Now, she just wished she could tell him to stop looking for signs of what was slipping away.

She was on the couch, her legs tucked under a blanket. She was reading, or at least holding the book. Her fingers twitched faintly against the cover, as if they were losing their patience before she was.

He sat down beside her. “Do you need anything?”

She shook her head, setting the book away. “Just you.”

The words slipped out before she could think about them. Just you. That’s all she really wanted anymore — just to feel safe around him because she was starting to get scared, watching herself not being able to deal with tasks, to watch her body declining. She didn’t need him to fix anything, because there was no fixing this. And she had accepted that. So, that’s what she needed. Just him. To love her enough so she would not feel alone. 

She didn’t say it, but he knew. Knew from the way she looked at him, that she’d already accepted what I couldn’t.

“I keep thinking…” he stopped, the words not being able to come past his teeth.

Her gaze didn’t shift. She was waiting, not to argue, just to hear it.

“…I keep thinking I can still fix this,” I said. “That if I love you hard enough, stay close enough, something will change. That one day, I’ll wake up and you’ll be okay again.”

Her smile was faint, soft. “You’ve always thought the rules didn’t apply to you,” she said. “But Harry… they do.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He bent forward, elbows on his knees looking down on the floor. It was a strange kind of helplessness and he couldn’t do anything to reverse it.

“How does that make me a good husband?” he asked finally.

She hated that he doubted himself this much. He had given her everything she could ever hope for. A home. And he was the very definition of it. 

“You are here,” she said. “That’s enough.”

She tried to reach for him. Her fingers twitched, barely moving the blanket. He caught her hand gently and held it. Her skin was cool, like always but her touch was welcome.

“I’m still yours,” she whispered. “And you’re mine. That doesn’t stop, even if everything else does.”

He nodded, throat burning. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Wake

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you you deserve that.”

Words were starting to betray her. Sometimes, she would know exactly what she wanted to say, but her tongue lagged behind her thoughts, and the sounds came out softer, slower. Harry never rushed her, never finished her sentences, but she could see the way it hurt him to wait.

That morning, she dropped her coffee mug. It slipped out of her hands so suddenly she didn’t even have time to try to catch it. It shattered against the kitchen floor, coffee staining the carpet.

She stared at it for a moment, too stunned to move.

He was at her side before she could bend down. “Don’t—” he caught her elbow gently and steered her back from the shards. “You’ll cut yourself.”

She just stood there, eyes on the mess.

“It’s fine,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “It’s just a mug.”

Her gaze flicked up to him, and he could see frustration, the way she hated being told not to do something she’d always done without thinking.

“I can’t even hold a cup anymore,” she whispered. 

“You can still do plenty,” Harry said quickly. Too quickly.

She shook her head, leaning against the counter for support. “I feel like I’m—” she stopped, swallowing hard. “Like I’m becoming a burden.”

That hit him like a slap. The phrase echoed in his head: burden .

“Don’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. “Don’t you dare say that.” His voice rose before he could stop it. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you deserve this. Not even yourself.”

Her eyes widened, and he realized his hands were clenched into fists. Harry forced them to loosen, forced his voice down. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. You hear me?”

She nodded slowly, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Harry cleaned up the shards in silence. The idea of her blaming herself made him want to tear the world apart.

By the time he was done, she’d moved to the couch. Her breathing was heavier than it should’ve been from just crossing the room. He sat down beside her and took her hand.

“You’re not a burden,” he said again, quieter this time. “You’re my wife. You’re… you. And nothing about this,” he gestured to the broken mug, to her trembling fingers, “changes that.”

And here he was, looking at her like none of this — the tremors, the slurred speech, the weakening muscles — changed a thing. And she loved him for that.

He could feel her fingers twitch faintly in his grasp. That small movement meant more to him than he could explain.

“You will always be enough for me. And I’m not going anywhere.” He decided he would keep telling her she didn’t deserve this, for as long as she needed to hear it. Even if that meant saying it when she was too far under to reply.

Her eyes glistened, and for a second he thought she might cry, but she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart under her cheek, was the most grounding thing in the world.

“I know,” she murmured. Her voice caught on the word, but he didn’t care.

They stayed like that for a long time, the afternoon light shifting across the room. Eventually, she drifted into sleep beside him. He didn’t move.

Over the next few weeks, he started adapting the kitchen. Lighter cups. Non-slip mats on every surface. He began serving her coffee in a mug with two handles, pretending it was just a new design he’d found interesting. She started using a walker to move around. 

When she tried to help with dinner, she dropped the knife halfway through chopping vegetables. He caught it before it hit the floor, but the look on her face stopped him cold. It wasn’t frustration but something heavier. Loss.

That night, he didn’t come to bed right away. He had some unanswered emails from work. When he finished he expected her to be asleep but found her sitting on the bed, her back resting against the headboard, the wedding album open across her lap. Her hands trembled just enough to make the page shift as she turned it.

She lingered on a photo, one of their favorites. The one where they were laughing mid-ceremony, her head tilted toward him, his hand still holding hers from the vows. There was such hope in it. Such certainty. Such love. At least that hadn’t changed. 

“We were so sure,” she said when she noticed him.

“About what?”

“That this would last forever.” She smiled faintly. 

Her words cut deep into his heart. He wanted to reach for her, but something in her posture stopped him. She turned another page. A close-up of their hands, her wedding band catching the sunlight. Her thumb traced the image. Then she looked at her hand, now thinner, realisation hitting her again that things have changed. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, after a long pause.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Cait—”

“I mean it.” Her eyes didn’t lift from the photograph. “I’m sorry we made that promise and I can’t keep it. I’m sorry we said forever and it’s turning out to be something shorter.”

He stood then, moved to sit gently next to her on his side of the bed. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t say it like that.”

Her eyes finally found his. There were unshed tears in them, but she didn’t let them fall. “I just keep thinking… we really believed we had a lifetime. We stood there with our whole future ahead of us. I wanted to grow old with you, Harry.”

“You still are,” he said, desperate, his voice thick. “Just… not how we expected.”

She gave a sad laugh at that. 

Caitlin looked back at the photo again. “We even talked about names,” she said quietly. “I used to imagine little feet running through this apartment.” She always wanted to have a family with him. She thought he’d have made a good father. 

Harry swallowed hard. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you any of that,” she said. “Not now. Not ever. I wanted to. I wanted it all with you.”

He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, held it there. “I didn’t marry you for children or long years or any of that. I married you because you were you. Because I wanted whatever time I could have with you, however it came.”

Tears slid silently down her cheeks now. “But you deserved more.”

“So did you.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Caitlin reached up with slow effort and closed the album, resting her palm on the cover.

“I wish I could’ve stayed longer,” she whispered.

Harry didn’t say me too . He didn’t need to. She leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest. He held her there, his fingers running through her hair.

“You can say it,” she murmured. “Say you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry at you,” he said softly. “I’m angry at the world. At whatever force decided this is how we end.”

Caitlin pulled back just enough to look at him again. Her lips parted, hesitated, then closed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I want…” she faltered. “I want you to make love to me. I want to feel like myself again. Like your wife. The one from those photos.” She paused. “Can we just… be together tonight? Just to remember.”

Harry hesitated at first. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she moved closer and tried to lift his shirt from him. She managed with a little more effort. 

He kissed her forehead first, then her cheeks, then her mouth. Their movements were slow, careful. There was no urgency. Just tenderness, and the aching knowledge that this might be the last time. She tried to give all of herself to him tonight, hoping to leave him with something whole, giving him something beautiful, a memory of them being just Caitlin and Harry, no labels, no disease, just love. She’s more than her failing body. She’s still Caitlin. She’s still his.

As he touched her, the pain in her body seemed to disappear. She felt like the woman he married.

“Thank you for still seeing me.”

He didn’t answer with words. He answered with his hands, his lips, the warmth of his body above hers.

As the time went by, she stopped trying to help with chores. Harry didn’t point it out. He took on everything without comment, folding laundry in the quiet, cooking them dinner, running errands during her naps.

He noticed she was getting tired faster now, sometimes halfway through a conversation, her eyelids would flutter, and she’d drift. When she woke, she always looked at him first, like checking he was still there.

One evening, she woke from one of those dozes and reached for his hand. Her fingers barely curled around his. “Thank you” she murmured, “I know you’ve done everything. For me.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me,” he replied, squeezing her hand. 

She smiled, and for a moment he felt like they were back in time. It was the same smile she’d given him across a crowded conference hall the first time they met that snowy morning in Metropolis.

The changes came quickly after that. Her voice weakened; sometimes he had to lean close to catch her words. The tremor spread to her legs and the walker was useless. Walking without his arm steadying her was no longer an option.

And still, he refused to treat her as less. She will never be any less. 

When she could no longer dress herself, he helped her slip into her clothes each morning with the same care he had on their wedding day. 

When her voice faltered, he filled the quiet with gentle conversation, commented on movies with her, sang even though she couldn’t join him. She was still a conscious person. 

It was in those weeks that Harry realized something: they were already saying goodbye. Not in one single, shattering moment, but in a thousand small surrenders.

And he decided all he could do was to love her, and show her in whatever form she could still receive it. Even if that was his presence.

Shiva

“Suddenly every machine stopped at once, and the monitors beeped one last time.”

The last stage came slowly, and then all at once.

By the time winter settled over the city, Caitlin could no longer stand. Harry carried her from room to room, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She was light to carry, most of her muscle mass had already atrophied. 

In the mornings, he bathed her with warm water, soft strokes in a careful touch. He washed her hair, combed it gently, and dried it with the fluffiest towels they owned. She couldn’t lift her arms to help him anymore, so he moved them for her, slow and deliberate, murmuring small reassurances even when she couldn’t answer.

Feeding had become a delicate process. Everything had to be soft, mashed, pureed, cut into small pieces before reaching her mouth. He held the spoon steady, watched her lips close around it, waited patiently for the slow process of chewing and swallowing.

Until one day, she choked.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Her eyes went wide, panic in them, and Harry was already on his feet, supporting her, ready to do anything to clear her airway. When her throat was clear again he was shaking, his own breath ragged.

From that day on, even food was taken from her, replaced with the feeding tube he swore he’d never agree to but couldn’t refuse.

Communication came in small blinks, in the way her eyes lingered on him when she wanted him to stay close, in the faint movement of her lips that he could still read without sound. They could always communicate with a simple look, even when she could speak.

He had installed an eye-tracking device that could form the words on a screen just with the movement of her eyeballs. 

He took time off from work entirely. He wouldn’t leave her up to anyone else. 

When her breathing weakened further, the doctors suggested the hospital. Harry didn’t want to take her there,  didn’t want the sterile walls to be the last thing she saw, but she blinked once, firmly, telling him she understood and agreed.

The hospital became their new home. He had filled the room with flowers. He read her books. They listened to music. Watched her favourite films. 

A few more months passed. The only thing that changed was how much slower her pulse was. The doctors had informed Harry that it seemed to be a matter of time. 

The day it happened, Harry had sat with her in the hospital bed, wrapping his arms around her, holding her weightless hand in his. He didn’t want her to be alone.

The hiss of the ventilator and the soft beep of the monitor filled the space. 

She hated the way the light caught the silver in his hair tonight, hated it because she knew she wouldn’t see it change any further. She tried to hold his gaze, to memorize the exact color of his eyes, the dimples at the corners of his mouth that deepened when he smiled. He had a nice smile, but he hadn’t been able to smile in an awfully long time and she knew it was because of her.

“I’m scared,” Caitlin said through the screen. 

“I know,” he said instantly, leaning closer. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Something in his chest shattered. He could feel that this was the end. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it like he could press himself into her skin and stay there.

“You were… you are … the best thing in my life.” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Her eyes softened, and even without a smile, she knew she was trying to comfort him.

She wished she could run her fingers through his hair one more time, trace the line of his jaw, and feel the warmth of his skin under her hands. But her body wasn’t her anymore.

Harry leaned down and rested his head against hers, closing his eyes. “I love you,” he said and looked at her eyes that said, stay with me. 

And then he started humming to her one of her favorite songs, the one that played in their record player the day she got diagnosed. 

…Every time that the world is over

When I cry I want you to smile at me

And every song that I have loved

You should sing it in my ear

And when the world will be over again

Kiss me like it's the first time

And in your warm hug

Maybe the world will start again…

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, minutes, maybe hours. Time had stopped mattering. There was just her hand in his, her eyes on him, the machines marking each second they had left.

Then, all at once, there was a shift.

Her eyes stayed on him, but the light in them dimmed. The ventilator gave one last hiss, the monitor one last beep, her hand twitched in his, and then… silence.

He sat frozen, still holding her hand, waiting for the next breath that never came.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no—”

He pressed his forehead against her chest, and for the first time since the day they met, he didn’t care who saw him break.

He stayed there long after the nurse came in, long after they turned off the equipment. Because letting go meant admitting she was gone, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

When he was forced to move away from her, he looked out at the window of the room.

It was snowing, just like the day they met. 

Epilogue

“I’ve woken up, I’m in our bed but there’s no breathing body next to me.”

The house was too quiet.

It had been quiet for months, ever since the disease had slowed her movements and took away her laughter. But this was different. This wasn’t just the absence of her voice. This was the absence of her .

After the funeral, people had tried to fill the space. Friends, colleagues, who had brought food, flowers and condolences wrapped in polite phrases. He’d accepted all of it without really hearing. Now the door was shut, the lights low, and there was no one left but him. And this was the reality. What people do when the door is closed and they are left all alone to deal with their grief. 

He moved through the rooms like a man in a museum, touching nothing, afraid that even breathing too hard might disturb what little of her still lingered here.

Her sweater, the soft gray one she’d worn so often in the last year, hung on the back of the chair. A hair tie lay abandoned on the nightstand, a few stray strands of her hair still tangled in it. The book she never finished on the coffee table. 

Every object felt heavy with the shape of her absence.

He’d woken up this way every morning since she passed, in their bed, staring at the space beside him where she should be. The air felt colder there, the sheets untouched, and the emptiness felt like a rock pressing down his chest.

What he would have given to feel her again next to him, smiling at him, kissing him good morning. 

He didn’t cry, not at that moment. The tears had come in waves the first few days, unannounced and unstoppable. Now the grief was a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t carry. 

He stared at his wedding band, his thumb traced the silver circle over and over, the same way she used to when they were sitting together and she played with his hands.

A memory from their wedding day came to his head.

She’d been in the bedroom that morning, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her dress clinging in all the right ways. “Shut your eyes, I’m coming,” she’d called when he asked if she was ready.

But when she stepped into the living room, he was already looking at her.

“Hey, you didn’t close your eyes!” she laughed.

“And deprive myself of all that beauty? Not happening.”

“Can you help me and do the buttons on my back?” she asked and had already turned around. 

When he completed the task, he kissed the exposed skin on her back, his lips lingering a little more, feeling like a burning mark on her. 

She spun for him. “Okay, what do you think?”

For a moment, he said nothing.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” she teased, turning toward the bedroom until he caught her hand.

“Don’t you dare. You look so beautiful I’d actually skip the whole ceremony and—”

She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Well, you have to wait a bit for that, Dr. Wells.”

“Oh, you know me... sometimes I’m impatient.”

Her smile softened. “Oh, you are.”

He ran a hand down her bare back. “I love you.”

“I love you more, my soon-to-be husband.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” he said, kissing her.

Thinking back to that day, he knows he won’t ever be as remotely happy as that day. 

She wasn’t coming back. And she had taken a big piece of him with her. 

A faint scratch at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Their dog pushed it open, padding into the room with hesitant steps, as though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed in.

He hopped onto the bed without hesitation once he reached him, curling into the hollow of his chest. He rested his hand on his fur, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing.

But he didn’t relax the way he usually did. His head kept lifting, eyes darting to the empty side of the bed. He sniffed at her pillow, once, twice, before letting out a quiet whine.

“You feel it too, huh?” he murmured.

His ears twitched at his voice, but he stayed still. He stroked his head, trying to soothe him. 

“You always loved her more,” he said quietly. “Can’t blame you. She had that… light.” He swallowed hard. “Made this place feel like home.”

The dog sighed like he agreed and tucked his head closer to Harry.

“She was special,” he told him, as if he didn’t already know. “One of a kind. And I… I don’t know how to do this without her.”

A few days later, their lawyer contacted him. Caitlin had been wealthy from her side of her family, and he was called to deal with what she left behind. At the end of the meeting, the man handed Harry an envelope, letting him know that it was her request after she passed away. 

He didn’t open it for days. If he did, those would truly be her last words to him, and he wasn’t ready for that. Except one night, he laid on the bed, the emptiness making him toss and turn until it was too late. He opened the nightstand drawer and picked the letter with trembling hands. It was a handwritten letter from her. Her penmanship wasn’t clear, most likely from the tremor in her hands, but he could read it. 

My love,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and I hate that you have to face this alone. I hate that I did this to you. I wish things were different. I’ve been dreading this moment not for myself, but for you. I just… I need you to hear me. One last time.

You were the great joy of my life. Truly. I didn’t think I’d ever have a love like this. The kind that endures the worst and still holds your hand through it. You gave me that. You gave me everything, Harry. Everything that mattered.

Thank you for loving me the way you did, with your whole heart, your whole soul, even when it hurt you to do so. You made this life, even the ending of it, beautiful. I am glad it was you. I am glad that I had you for all of it, the life, the love, the work, the home we made. 

I know this tore pieces out of you. I saw it. I felt it every time you looked at me like you were begging the universe to take you instead. And oh, Harry, I wish I could’ve stayed longer. I wish we’d had more time. More nights tangled up in each other. More walks with our dog. More ordinary mornings with coffee and quiet. More of the life we built.

But I need you to know this: I am not afraid. Not really. Because I have you. Because even when I’ll just be an empty shell of a person, you will be there. 

I want you to live, Harry. Fully. I know you’ll feel lost for a while. I expect you to. But don’t let this be the end for you, too. Please. Love the dog for both of us. Take that trip to Greece that we never did. Talk to me if you need to, I’ll always be listening. And when you close your eyes at night, I hope you feel me there in the space beside you, brushing your hair back the way I used to.

You are the bravest, most stubbornly loving person I’ve ever known. I was so lucky to be yours.

And if there is a place beyond all of this, some stretch of time or space where we get to be again, wait for me there. I’ll find you.

I love you, Harry. In this life and whatever comes after.

Forever your Snow.

He clutched the paper to his chest, laid back on the bed, and cried until his body gave out from exhaustion.

And then…

A breeze. Soft. Warm. 

A voice. Gentle. Familiar.

“Come on, wake up. We didn’t come to Greece for you to sleep all day.”

His eyes opened slowly. Blinking the light away, he found himself in a sunlit room he didn’t recognize. White curtains floated from the breeze. The bed beneath him was soft and smelled like the sea.

And there, sitting beside him, brushing her fingers along his arm, was Caitlin.

She wore a white sundress. Her hair curled in soft waves, falling over her shoulders. She looked the way she had before the weight of illness, before the muscle loss and the wheelchair and the hospital rooms.

She looked like his Caitlin.

Harry couldn’t speak. His breath caught in his chest because he feared if he moved, she would vanish.

But she didn’t. She stayed. Smiling at him like nothing had ever changed.

“You’re…” he finally said, his voice hoarse, afraid. “You’re here.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Of course I’m here. It was my idea to come, wasn’t it?”

Her hand was still on his arm, warm, solid. He reached up, hesitantly, and touched her cheek. She leaned into the touch.

“You feel real.”

She only smiled.

He sat up slowly, facing her, still unsure whether to believe it. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as if memorizing her beautiful face all over again.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“I know,” she said. Her hand slid over his heart. “But you never did. Not really.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, and breathed in the scent of her. That lavender she always used, the sun in her hair, the smell of her being.

They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to.

Caitlin slipped her fingers between his, and gently pulled him up. Together, they stepped out onto the balcony. The sky was the orange of the late afternoon. Below, the Aegean Sea shimmered, endless and calm, stretching far beyond the horizon.

The wind brushed his face, rustling her dress. They stood there silently, side by side, holding each other, watching the waves.

He didn’t ask if this was real.

She didn’t say.

And maybe it didn’t matter.

Because he was with her again.

And that was enough.

The End