But because, for the first time in months, we were finally speaking honestly about what had happened between us.

Over the following weeks, Ashton continued attending therapy.

I kept my medical appointments.

We also began marriage counseling together.

Gradually, our home became a place where we could discuss our frustrations without allowing them to build into resentment.

Ashton stopped automatically doing things for me that I could manage independently.

Instead, he began asking:

“Would you like help with that?”

Sometimes I said yes.

Sometimes I said no.

And he learned to respect both answers.

My eyesight continued improving at its own pace.

Some days were better than others, but I gradually began recognizing more details around me.

One evening, I found Ashton’s black suitcase in our closet.

It was empty.

He noticed me looking at it.

“Want me to get rid of that thing?”

I shook my head.

“No. I have a better idea.”

“What?”