I tripped at work—I’m a waitress—and felt something snap in my knee before I even hit the floor. The doctor said it was a torn ligament, wrapped my leg in a cast, and sent me home with strict instructions to rest. My husband, Collins, drove me back. He was strangely quiet, gripping the steering wheel a little too hard. I assumed he was just worried.
When we got home, my mother-in-law greeted us with uncharacteristic warmth. She fussed, fluttered, and insisted on helping Collins get me upstairs. They tucked me into bed, pulled the blankets up, and told me to call if I needed anything. I truly felt grateful.
