At some point down the mountain, we stopped our banter about cooking shows and who the best Spice Girl was -- it was Ginger, duh! -- and began to walk in silence. Probably because I was gasping for air, though it was easier to hike down than it had been going up.

The trees around me created a curtain of darkness, fooling me into thinking for a moment that it must be night. It was in that low light that I noticed Chris as my husband for perhaps the first time. Walking down that mountain, his footing sure and posture at ease, his strength became apparent. He carried three times what I did and still navigated the path with ease. The arms which had held me once or twice since this marriage began, were visible even under his sweater. How had I not noticed before?

Or maybe I had and I'd finally let myself see it.

I wasn't sure which option was worse.

And it was with that thought that I completely lost my footing, tripping over the unsteady ground and sliding down the damp path until my foot caught on a root, twisting at an unnatural angle. I let out a yelp as I fell, my knee hitting the ground and my face fast approaching. My eyes squeezed shut at the thought of impact, and my arms flailed behind me, unable to protect me from the impending ground.

I was saved from the faceplant at the last moment by the strong arms I'd admired mere moments before.

"You okay?" Chris gently lowered me to the ground and I rolled onto my back as well as I could with my backpack still on. Tears stung my eyes and a deep throbbing pain radiated from my ankle and my knee.

"No," I answered as the tears started to fall. "No, I think I hurt my ankle when I twisted it and then my knee when I fell. I don't know what happened."

That last part is a lie. You know what happened, you just don't want him to know his shoulders were distracting you.

"Can I feel the bone to make sure you didn't break it?" He eased me into a sitting position and waited for my response, hand hovering above my ankle.

I couldn't speak through the pain, fearing even the slightest parting of my lips might result in a scream no one wanted to hear. So I nod, holding my lips between my teeth to stop the whimpering. Sure feels like I broke it.

I winced when he pressed on my ankle, the swelling already starting to protect the fragile bones of my foot.

"I don't think it's broken," he said after he had removed my shoe and pressed on every part of my ankle. "I also don't think you should walk on it."

"I guess you're going to have to carry me after all." My attempt at a joke falls flat when my voice breaks along with my tears.

"I don't know..." He looks around as though calculating our odds of survival. I would be the person to put us at risk in the middle of a forest. See, accident prone. "We aren't far actually. I think you'll have to use me like a crutch until we get to the flat ground and then I can go get the car for you or--"

"I don't really want you to leave me alone." I tried to move my foot and almost cried out in pain again. "But you're right, I definitely can't walk."

"Yeah, I was thinking that, too. We'll figure it out when we get there." He dug around in his backpack. "For now, let's just get you some painkillers and make sure your ankle is wrapped as best we can. We have to move quickly to get your shoe back on before your ankle really starts to swell and you get stuck with no shoe at all."

I tried not to think about how much worse it would have been if he didn't know what he was doing. But he did know. He knew exactly what I needed and somehow he was prepared for it all. 'Stable' is what Melody would have called him, if she were here.

My ankle was tightly wrapped and squished back into my shoe in no time at all, and I finally relaxed as he deftly tied my shoelaces tightly enough that it would support some of my weight without hurting me.

"I think that's the best I can do right now," he said, holding out his arm.

My hand worked without me, reaching out and holding on blindly as he pulled me to standing. His arms flex around me, not letting me move from that spot. The painkillers must have started working because I find myself lost in his spicy scent, completely forgetting that my foot hurts.

And then I put weight on my ankle. It held me up with little pain, so I took a step away from Chris, only to find myself buckling toward the ground and into Chris's arms once more.

"Whoa, there!" he said. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. How about we take it slow, alright?"

I put my arm around his shoulder and waited for him to firmly grasp my waist before I let him walk me down the mountain, one step at a time. The sky grew darker and darker until finally we made it to the main road at nearly nightfall.

The smoother road made it easier for me to walk so I used his shoulder as a crutch and hopped along the shoulder until we reached the cabin. Searing pain occasionally shot up my injured leg, and my good one was exceptionally sore from hopping the whole way home.

Chris jumped into action the second he got me through the door, lowering me onto the couch and reaching down to untie my shoes.

I failed in my attempts to hide my grimace when his fingers brushed my ankles.

"Just elevate this, okay?" His mouth formed a thin line as he put my leg up onto the coffee table and slid a fluffy throw pillow underneath it. "Promise me you won't move while I go get some ice? I don't want you getting any more hurt than you already are."

The severity in his voice frightened me. "Of course. Promise."

Breathing through pain was something not entirely foreign to me, having injured myself a fair few times in my life before that point, but being injured in the middle of the forest was a little scarier than stubbing my toe in the middle of the city.

When Chris came back with the ice, he handed me a glass of water. "Drink that. We don't need you dehydrated as well."

I take the cup from his hand and rest it on my lap. Chris balanced the ice on my ankle. "This will help with the pain."

The second he let go, it started to slip off, but I managed to reposition it without too much difficulty.

And then I got cocky and though I could tip my head back to drink water without the ice falling off. I felt it sliding before I saw it, but before I could grab it, Chris slid over from his spot on the floor and gently pushed the ice back onto my ankle, refusing to let it go as he gazed absentmindedly out the wall of windows. My eyes followed his and I leaned back into the couch, enjoying the view of the still darkening sky.

There was a peaceful silence filled only with the sounds of nature creeping in through the sturdy walls. The only movement was Chris's fingers tracing little circles on my leg, just above the swelling, and mine absently fiddling with the small tendrils of his hair that formed near his ear.

We stayed like that until he brought me out of my trance with a light chuckle, leaning his head closer to my knee.

"What's funny?" I asked gently.

"It's just... It's nothing."

"What?" I pressed. "My ankle hurts so you basically have to tell me, right?"

"It's just." He took a deep breath. "I always thought this would be how I proposed to my wife one day. Here, in this room, looking at that sky." He gestured outside where the stars were slowly becoming more visible in the growing darkness.

I let the silence sit quietly between us for a few minutes before I responded. "Well, you know what they say about a bad dress rehearsal." I pointed to my ankle.

"No." He shook his head and turned to try to look at me. "I don't."

"I guess maybe it's a theater thing. A bad dress rehearsal means a good opening night."

His brows pulled together. He still didn't get it.

"Maybe one day you'll get to propose" -- I catch myself -- "or something and, because this day didn't go so well, with my ankle and everything, that time will go well."

I can't be sure, but his sad smile as he turned away was accompanied by a whisper of not wanting a second try. And then I couldn't hear him, but I'm pretty sure he said something about me.