Theo had stopped working during treatment. I worked nights, picked up extra shifts, drove him to appointments, measured pills, and learned how to sleep in tiny intervals.
Some mornings, I sat in our driveway after work because I was too tired to remember why I had driven home.
Theo would squeeze my hand and say, “When this is over, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
Theo had stopped working during treatment.
I never wanted repayment.