Everything.

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I wasn’t even there, but still, I can’t stop replaying it in my mind. The split second when she saw the light turn yellow. The split second when she clenched the brake. The split second when she vaulted, headfirst, arcing toward blue above, then pavement below. The split second when she lost consciousness.

She was over an hour late from her training ride. She’s never late and I mean that in the most literal sense of the word. When the phone rang, I knew. I just knew.

I grabbed what I could think to grab — her wallet, a change of clothes, the legal documents we prepared to prove to unfriendly medical personnel that I’m her person. I was in the Emergency Room within 15 minutes.

When I arrived, she was gone for a CT scan and x-rays. I knew nothing aside from the fact that she, in a moment of lucidity, was able to remember her phone number so they could reach me. I waited. I collected myself. I crafted optimistic fortunes to convince myself that she would walk into the room any minute, crack a joke about her hair or the nurse, that we’d be home in time for Nightly News with Brian Williams and maybe, if the reception was good enough, Jeopardy.

I heard the creak of wheels before I saw the gurney.

She was strapped to a backboard, her head caged in this obscene florescent orange brace. She was the color of mixed berries on her face and the whole left side of her body. But she knew me, thank God. She knew the date.

She could not remember the accident.

Miraculously, the x-rays were negative for broken bones and the CT was negative for serious head injury. A second CT scan and bloodwork revealed that her organs were intact. All teeth were accounted for, as were all appendages. Even her bike, or as I’ve renamed it, The Injurious Catapult, was unscathed. Her helmet was cracked and her face was swollen. The road had branded her, removed flesh willy nilly, pummeled her beautiful, perfect face.

The hospital admitted her overnight. With morphine, she slept. I stretched out on the foldout loveseat, haunted by the moment I didn’t even witness. Replay. Replay. Replay.

We’re home now. It’s past midnight. She’s in pain, but sleeping in the next room. I’m awake and scared. I know that I will take care of her to the best of my ability. I will love her and wash her and kiss her and feed her. I will coordinate errands with willing loved ones. I will do all of these things, despite ineptitude or fear. because she is everything to me. Everything.

I mean that in the most literal sense of the word.

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