Two months after the ink dried on our divorce papers, I found myself walking the sterile, fluorescent-lit halls of the Semmelweis Clinic

the world by refusing to let go.

For the first time in months, neither of us pretended to be strong.

She cried into my shoulder. I pressed my face against her short hair and whispered the only promise I could make honestly.

“I’m here now.”

The road ahead would not be simple. It would be long, uncertain, and painful. There would be doctors, treatments, continue reading …