When I wake up, I feel like I’m floating. There’s no pain, only disorientation.

But I’m not so buoyant that I can’t feel the new weight on my ring finger.

If only I could break through the drowsiness enough to look down.

Experimentally, I crack an eyelid—and the first thing I see is Benny.

He’s pacing in front of my hospital bed, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

His forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat, anxiety radiating from his strong body.

I must shift or make a ...