I get up in the morning, again trying to escape for a quick shower in the family lounge locker room before Harry wakes up. Once I'm there, however, I decide to take an extended hot shower, letting the water dissolve my stiffness from the previous night. I also decide to give myself a little extra time for makeup. I partially dry my hair and then decide on a ponytail for the day. It feels so good to focus a little attention on myself for once.

When I return to the room, Harry is awake and looking a bit worried. "Hey, Baby, what's wrong?" I kiss him on the lips.

"I guess I...I didn't know where you were. I thought maybe you left." He furrows his eyebrows as if he's concentrating on retrieving the information.

"You mean, like I left to go to your parents' house, or I left to go back to Eagle Canyon, or that I had left for good?"

"I don't know. I was just trying to remember if you were coming back."

I take Harry's beautiful face in my hands and look into those gorgeous green eyes. "I will always come back. If you remember only one thing, remember this: I am never leaving you." Harry kisses me again, like he did that first night in my truck.

"I love you," I tell him clearly.

He smiles as I lean my forehead on his. "I love you, too."

A bit of fear remains after this episode, but I chose to rely on the facts. The doctor said there was no damage to Harry's brain. Besides, Harry was actively working to remember what was real. If I hadn't arrived just then, he probably would have come to the conclusion on his own that I had just left the room temporarily. The best news is that he always remembers people. He knows me. He knows his parents and his friends and his doctors.

I will keep the fear at bay by remembering all of the positive things. I also remember what Scarlett had told me at lunch that day: "Just ask God to help you find your strength in Him."

I whisper a simple prayer: Please help me, God. And please, please help Harry to come back.

Shelly, Harry's OT, comes in to help Harry get showered and dressed for the day. Thus far, he had only had a sponge bath. "Would you like to help?" She asks. I assume this would be normal for a spouse, but I am still his fiancée.

I'm not sure. I want to do whatever I can to help Harry, but I also want him to have his privacy. I'm also not sure if it's appropriate, given that I haven't really seen him naked, and well, we're obviously not married yet, but not everyone knows we're waiting for marriage either. As much as I might like to see him in the buff, I finally I decide to be blunt. "We're not married yet, so I don't think so...."

In the afternoon, it's finally time to move Harry out of the intensive care unit and into a regular bed. It's a step toward going home. He is being prepped to move, any unnecessary monitors disconnected, and his IV line secured for transport. His parents gather up his numerous cards, flowers and other gifts and follow along as the transport tech pushes his entire bed out of the ICU. As the bed moves out the door, I hop on next to Harry and ask, "Can I have a ride?" I laugh, reminding him of all the rides I gave him in my truck and all the hours we spent together, which led to us falling in love.

Once, he is settled into a new room, I update him on my plans. "If you don't mind, Baby, I think I'll sleep at your house from now on. How do you feel about that?"

"I'll survive," he smirks.

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's what you told me about the surgery!" I put a big pout on my face and cross my arms like a tantrumming toddler.

"I did survive, didn't I," he insists.

"Yes, technically, but you almost killed me in the process!"

"I'll be fine, Katie. You need some rest. Heaven forbid you lose it like you did at the end of finals week!"

I playfully slap his arm. He catches my wrist and pulls me in for a kiss.

"Besides," I tell him, "I have can have any t-shirt I want when I sleep in your room."

"You went through my stuff?!" He exaggerates his shock, and then gives me a silly grin to assure me that it's okay.

Once he is settled, Harry and I spend a long time talking about wedding plans. He actually asks me if we can discuss them.

I tell him about the things that are planned for sure: Pastor Koskinen will perform the ceremony. My parents reserved the Westchester ballroom for our reception. I found a dress.

As I list these very few things, I realize we don't have much of a plan at all. I had wanted to do more, but I got lost in the endless days of standing by Harry's bedside.

I find a small notepad and tell him, "Let's brainstorm."

"Tux?" I ask.

"Yes," He responds.

"Well, I know that, you goof. What color? Black or white? Well, my dress is kind of a creamy color, so I guess black will look better."

"That was easy," he quips.

"We'll have to get you in to a tux shop for some measurements as soon as you're out of the hospital. Do you have a favorite color? Maybe you can choose the color of the bridesmaids' dresses."

"I've always like red," he offers.

"How about scarlet?" I ask with a grin.

"Sounds perfect!" He agrees, placing a kiss on my cheek. "So, you and Scarlett hit it off?"

"Yes, she's great. She's so unassuming, easy to talk to. I like her a lot." I pause for bit, then proceed, "And she's absolutely gorgeous. Why didn't you ever ask her out?"

Harry laughs loudly. His old laugh. "Scarlett and me? No way. She's not my type at all. Besides, remember how I told you that she used to torture me? She's one of my best friends, but we never had that kind of chemistry. By the time we were old enough, it was clear that she and Dave had a thing for each other. I just had to give them a nudge to get them going."

He leans over to touch his forehead to mine. "You're my type. That's why I'm making you my wife."

Our kiss doesn't last nearly as long as I want it to.

"So?" I turn my attention back to wedding plans. "Band or DJ?"

Harry looks like he's giving the question some intense thought.

Suddenly, I think of something I don't know about him yet. "Can you dance?"

He chuckles. "It's not very pretty, but I'm not afraid to shake my groove thing on the dance floor. The only dance I really want to do is our first dance together. I should be able to handle that one, if you can accept that I'm not quite as graceful as Fred Astaire."

We make a bit more progress throughout the afternoon. I jot down a few ideas for the cake, the flowers, the decorations. It's definitely the most enjoyable time I've spent in the hospital.

"My classes start tomorrow," I tell Harry.

The look of alarm in his eyes is enough to prompt me to explain. "I called the college on Friday and they said I can enroll next fall to finish my last few classes."

"You scared me for a minute. There's no way I'm letting you leave!" Harry is half joking, but I know neither one of us can stand to be separated again.

After a few more minutes of thought, he tells me, "I'm sorry you had to put your plans on hold for me. But I'm glad you're here."

"You have to finish your last semester, too. Maybe we can finish together. You're alive and getting better. College classes can wait," I tell him as I lean in to kiss him. He meets me with passionate lips and then wraps his arms around me. I'm fairly sure his arms haven't lost much muscle since he's been in the hospital. He presses his lips harder into mine until I open my mouth slightly. I close my eyes and let the joy of the moment take me away. Harry is alive. The worst is behind us, hopefully. Now, we can focus on each other and building our new life together.

Dr. Carbondale and an assistant arrive late in the afternoon. They perform numerous tests in terms of the strength of Harry's legs. He is still weak from the coma. It doesn't appear that he has had any improvement from the surgery, but he is regaining strength quickly. There still may be some swelling, and when that goes down, we could still see some improvements. Dr. Carbondale informs Harry that he will be doing some extensive physical therapy daily.

"Just like when I had the accident...."

"You'll probably be doing some of the same things," Dr. Carbondale admits.

Harry sighs. "I guess I've done it before, I can do it again."

"Sure you can, Harry. You still have a lot of strength in your legs. In fact, you will be starting from a better place than you were after the accident. It will just take you some time to get back to what was normal for you before this surgery. After that, hopefully we'll see if you make further improvements."

After the doctor leaves, I sit down facing Harry. "So, how do you feel?"

"Okay, how about you?" He smirks.

"You know what I mean!" I insist. "How do you feel about the surgery? I mean, will you be okay if it didn't work?"

He takes a long time before he responds. "I haven't known anything but crutches for the past four years. I guess I didn't really lose anything. The surgery came so fast, I didn't have much time to get my hopes up. I think I'll be okay. I'm just getting kind of impatient to get back to where I was. I want to get out of this place and move on."

"It's okay to be disappointed," I tell him. "But I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you. How could I be disappointed?"

I kiss him on the cheek. I'm overwhelmingly grateful that he's coming back. He's coming back all the way.

"I've been praying for you," I tell him. "And I read the Bible verse you told me about, from Romans 8. I think it's helping me to understand how much God loves me."

"Good," he smiles at me.

The next afternoon, Harry's mom returns after running some errands. She has a takeout box in one hand and a huge bag in the other. She sets the bag on a chair and asks, "Who wants pizza?"

Harry and I both eagerly accept the welcome change from cafeteria food. Harry is eating more now, but he can still barely finish one slice.

After lunch, Mrs. Styles hands me the bag. I pull out three large photo albums and sit down next to Harry on the bed.

"I thought it might help jog your memory to look through some of those," Mrs. Styles tells Harry.

I squeal with excitement. "Yes! Are there baby pictures?"

Mrs. Styles nods while Harry rolls his eyes.

I snuggle in closer to Harry as he flips open the first album. The very first page holds a 4x6 baby announcement that reads:

Des, Anne and Gemma Styles proudly welcome

Harry Edward

Born February 1, 1994

6 lbs. 4 oz., 20 inches

Several baby pictures follow, one of Anne holding him, probably still in the hospital, and another of a very proud Gemma grinning widely as she holds the little bundle of joy on her lap. I can't stop chuckling at Harry's wispy baby hair.

We browse through the years of Harry's life. Messy high chair pictures, bare-bottom bathtub pictures, toothless grins. It's the standard assortment of pictures, but it's an extended look into Harry's past, and maybe our future. Will our babies look like him?

Another album holds hundreds of grade school photos. Most of them are Harry and his various sports teams. They're similar to the ones I saw in his room.

We arrive at Harry's high school years. I recognize the picture of him with the cross country medal. "I saw this one in your room."

I stop him for a minute and ask, "Do you remember talking about high school the other day? You told me that you couldn't wait to take me to school to meet Dave and Scarlett...."

He looks puzzled, but then responds, "Yeah, I think I remember that. Things are still kind of fuzzy from the last few days."

I turn serious and tell him, "You scared me a little. I thought maybe you had lost your memory, or worse."

"I think I remember everything now. I still feel foggy sometimes, but I know who I am. I know who you are." He plants a kiss on my nose. "I remember high school and college. I remember asking you to marry me."

Harry then realizes that he never told his parents about our engagement, but they obviously know. He turns to his mom. "Hey, mom, I hope you and dad aren't too upset that I didn't tell you I was proposing to Kate."

She stands up to embrace both of us. "Oh, heavens, Harry. I knew Kate was the one the first time I met her. You've never looked at anyone the way you look at Kate." I'm a bit surprised but I can feel myself beaming from ear to ear. She continues, "It was sooner than we had expected, but I'm so glad Kate's been here for you." She kisses my head.

"What about Dad?" He ventures.

"He's coming around. It's just hard for him to let go. You were his little boy and he was always so proud of you. It tore him apart when the accident happened. He used to tell me that he wished it was him instead of you." Mrs. Styles is starting to choke up a bit; Harry and I are close to tears as well.

"It never seemed like he was very proud of me." He gets that same sad, resentful look on his face. "He was always pushing me harder and harder. It didn't matter to him how many trophies or medals I won. He always wanted me to do better. After the accident, I felt like I was adding to my string of sports disappointments when I couldn't walk again. I felt like Dad thought I just wasn't trying hard enough."

"After the accident, he wanted to be strong enough to make you better. Your dad would do anything for you, Harry," his mom finishes with a whisper.

"I know," he agrees. "When I really gave my life to God, I was able to forgive Dad for all his years of pushing me so hard. I think I started to understand him a little. I had a lot of natural talent when it came to athletics and he just wanted me to succeed. But some of the memories are still hard for me."

This new piece of information helps me to see Dr. Styles in a new light. He doesn't resent me for invading their life. He's just been consumed with grief over his son's disability and hasn't been able to move on.

Harry continues, "When Kate came for dinner and Dad kept saying I would walk again if I just worked hard enough. Where did that come from? He hasn't said anything like that in a long time. I thought he had finally accepted that I would always use crutches."

Mrs. Styles ponders his question for a bit. Then she answers, "Dad and I both hoped you would get better completely. We all wanted that, Harry. But you accepted your disability even before Dad or I did. That was surprising to us, but it was good for you. You were able to move on with your life. I think that Dad's expectation for you was that you would be completely well before going to college and getting married, and now those things are happening while you're still disabled. It is hard for him to accept that your disability is permanent."

Mrs. Styles keeps focusing on Harry as she says, "He loves Kate, you know. And he knows you're madly in love with her. He just needs some time."

With that, we resume looking at the photo albums. The next page Harry opens to reveals three pictures, taken from different angles, of a completely smashed and mangled car. I know instantly which car it is. I grimace while I mumble, "Why did you keep these?"

"It's a little weird, I know. The pictures were for the insurance company. I kept them because I wanted to remember how God saved my life."

I understand, but I turn the page because I've seen enough. Then I turn to him and comment, "He saved your life again. Should we get a picture of you here in the hospital?" I pull my phone out and get selfie of the two of us snuggling on his hospital bed.

It's the first picture of us together.

That night, Mrs. Styles and I agree to head home. I am hesitant, even after I had told Harry that I wouldn't stay overnight at the hospital any more. I leave my cell number on the white board in his room, I tape it to the phone, and I make sure the phone is right next to his bed.

Dr. Styles will be taking the night shift with Harry, even though Harry insists that he doesn't have to.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?" I can't resist telling Harry one more time.

Harry smirks, "I'll be fine, Katie." He pulls me in for a kiss and then says, "I like that you worry so much about me, but now I'm worried about you. You need some rest. Don't try to rush back here first thing. I will have physical therapy all morning, and then I'm sure I'll take a nap. Get some sleep."

He's about to let go, but he pulls me down for another delightful kiss, one that causes those wonderful flutters. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Mrs. Styles and I take our time meandering home from the hospital. We decide to stop at the little cafe just a few blocks from the hospital. We both get a chocolatey dessert and some coffee. When I go to pay, however, I realize that I've left my purse back in Harry's room.

Mrs. Styles picks up the tab and we head back to the hospital. She pulls up outside the patient drop-off area, just so I can run inside and get my purse.

As I approach the door to Harry's room, I hear muffled sobs. My heart begins racing and I feel sick to my stomach.

Who's crying?

What happened?

Then I hear Harry's voice and I'm instantly calmed. I listen intently and I can hear Harry telling his dad, "I forgive you, Dad."

"I know, son." Dr. Styles' voice is soft and broken.

I hear some sniffles, and then silence.

Dr. Styles softly continues, "You know I played college football. But I probably never told you I had a chance to play professional ball. I had scouts coming to watch me, but in the end it never happened. I just wasn't quite good enough to make it. I think I pushed you so hard all those years because I saw that you had real talent. Maybe I wanted you to succeed where I failed."

"Dad, you never failed us," Harry tells him. "Look at how much you've provided for Gemma and me. You worked two jobs so that Mom could stay home with us, you gave us a nice house in a good neighborhood. You gave us a lot of good experiences and a solid family life, Dad. That's nothing to be ashamed of, and you certainly didn't fail."

I hear more sniffling and then Dr. Styles' hoarse voice saying, "Since when is a son supposed to be wiser than his old man?"

"I love you, Dad."

"You, too, son. And you know that I love Kate. She's perfect for you. She will make you very happy."

"She already does, Dad."

I'm not really sure how to interrupt such a moment, but I decide to walk in as if I heard nothing.

"Hi, Baby. I just forgot my purse." I grab it and lean in for yet another quick kiss to my beloved's cheek.

I catch Dr. Styles' small smile out of the corner of my eye.

* * * * *