Her Signature Was My Eulogy

The day the specialists handed down my death sentence, Giselle threw herself between me and the grave.

Everyone in our circle begged her to walk away. "It’s severe cryoglobulinemia, Giselle. It's incurable. His blood literally solidifies when the temperature drops. He has to spend the rest of his life inside a hermetically sealed, climate-controlled cleanroom. The slightest exposure means tissue necrosis, ulceration, systemic agony."

"Then I’ll build him a world that won't hurt him," she had answered, her voice trembling but unbroken. "I’ll protect him for the rest of his life."