In that moment, a strange peace had settled over him. He realized he still had breath in his lungs. He had the memory of Martha’s laughter. He had the strength to sit upright. He began to count, not his losses, but the tiny, overlooked mercies.

Thank you for the air. Thank you for the light. Thank you for the strength to stay awake.

As the coffee in his mug vanished, Elias stood up, his joints popping like dry kindling. He looked at the modest life spread out before him—the small garden, the stack of firewood, the path leading to the woods. It wasn't the life he had planned as a young man, but it was the life he had been given. And in the giving, there was a grace he had once been too busy to see.