Photo by Bruno Passos
Mayra sat tall in her wheelchair. Time had not healed him.
“I want you to be happy.”
They both stared at the finish line.
“We raised a family,” she said, more to herself, to ease the pain in her heart, to prevent it from hardening against him. “Why now?”
“I'm always going to be broken.”
She held his hand. “I never asked for more.”
“I wanted more for you...and for me.”
“It's been more than enough, don't you know that? Cross the finish line with me.”
“How?”
She squeezed his hand. “Moment by moment.”
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