Seeing Danny laying in a hospital bed, motionless, for two weeks slowly killed me inside. I felt like he should wake up. I knew he would. But then the doctor came. He said that Danny might not make it. The blood loss was a lot to take for Danny's 15 year old body.
I cried. Every night I had to watch Danny like that, I cried. I prayed to God. Asked Him to bring my Daniel back to me safely. God answered my prayers. He brought me Danny. And I brought Danny love.
Danny was slowly slipping back into the dark cover of sleep that clouded over his eyes. He had deep dark circles and his eyes had lost their lovely glow. Danny needed sleep. But he refused to leave me alone in the silence.
I reassured him. Told him I'd be okay. And now, I was rubbing his chest with my hand. He was gradually slipping. His eyes closed. I placed my hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath my fingers. He lay motionless, breathing calmly and steadily.
I listened to the sound I missed. I'd been left alone in the hospital a few days ago. They performed another surgery on Daniel, trying to stitch the wound properly. The first time, they failed. The second time was a success.
But while I was alone in the hospital, I realized that the most precious sound I'd ever heard was Daniel breathing. I yearned to hear it again. Hear the soft inhale and the strong exhale. Watch his chest rise and fall with each breath he took. Each breath meant he would live a little longer.
He was a fighter, surviving through being stabbed by Caylee. He told me he fought through it for me. I dont know if he means it, but he was sweet enough to tell me that. I knew I was lucky Danny had pulled through at all. Why question it?
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