“Kwame.”
His eyes closed.
There he was.
Not Goliath. Not a legend. Not a weapon shaped by suffering.
Her husband.
The man who had fallen from a tree and risen with hell at his back, only to choose mercy. The man who had taught her that strength could be shelter. The man who had asked her to walk beside him when neither of them knew where the road would end.
He opened his eyes and kissed her hand.
“Grace,” he said.
Her name in his mouth no longer felt like a prayer waiting to be answered.
It felt like one that had survived.
