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WADE I blink, the fog in my mind lifting as I hear a steady beeping in my ears. My body feels heavy, weighed down by a dull ache radiating from my legs and back, and for a brief moment, I am disoriented, my brain gradually piecing together fragments of what happened. Then, like a dam bursting, the memories flood back—the fall, the severe impact, the terrifying thought that I might not survive. I look over at the machines next to me, their blinking lights a silent reminder that I am still alive, and a wave of relief and gratitude washes over me. I survived. My gaze shifts, and there she is: my wife. Tears fill my eyes at the sight of her, and for a moment I can only stare, overcome by the knowledge that I get to see her again, that I get to hear her voice again. Just then, she turns and