Did not pressure.
At thirty-seven, Elena underwent a third surgery intended to improve nerve mobility.
Recovery was brutal.
For two weeks she barely transferred from bed without help.
She hated dependency.
Ethan stayed at her house.
Not because she asked.
Because Lucy insisted.
One morning Elena snapped:
“I can do it.”
Ethan stepped back immediately.
She tried transferring.
Pain shot through hip.
She nearly fell.
He caught her.
Elena shouted:
“I said I can do it!”
Ethan released carefully once stable.
His face hurt.
“Okay.”
He walked out.
Elena sat shaking.
Not from pain.
Shame.
Ten minutes later she found him in kitchen.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked toward coffee.
“I know you're frustrated.”
“That doesn't make it okay.”
“No.”
She waited.
“I don’t want you thinking helping me means I resent you.”
“I don't.”
“Sometimes I resent needing anybody.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“That still hurts people.”
“Yes.”
She leaned against counter.
“I’m bad at this.”
“At what?”
“Needing.”
Ethan smiled.
“Everyone is.”
He kissed forehead.
No speech.
That night Elena asked:
“If I never walk without chair again, will you care?”
Ethan looked offended.
“Care how?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me say the ugly question.”
He understood.
“Will I want you less?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Too fast.
Elena stared.
Ethan continued:
“I might miss things we imagined.”
“Hiking.”
“Dancing.”
“Whatever.”
“But wanting a different activity isn't wanting different person.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“That was annoyingly good.”
“I've been dating executive.”
“Some intelligence transferred.”
“Terrifying.”
Six months later Elena proposed to him.
Not because she wanted to invert tradition.
Because waiting for Ethan to do it started annoying her.
They were in workshop.
He was repairing lawn mower.
She rolled in.
“Marry me.”
Ethan looked up.
Grease on face.
“What?”
“I'm busy Thursday but otherwise flexible.”
He stared.
Lucy, now eleven, dropped screwdriver.
“Finally.”
Ethan looked between them.
“You planned this?”
Lucy pointed at Elena.
“She did.”
“I wanted balloons.”
“She said tacky.”
“They are tacky.”
Ethan stood.
“You don't have ring.”
Elena smiled.
“Check your toolbox.”
He opened top drawer.
A simple platinum band.
Not expensive by Elena’s standards.
He looked at her.