Seven minutes isn’t enough for a life. But it’s long enough to remember how much I’m loved.

Eli-

I thought the worst part of losing my husband would be the slow drift apart, the way hospital shifts swallowed our nights, and silence replaced laughter. I never imagined the worst part would be dying in his ER, the flatline screaming while his hands were the last to touch me.

But death isn’t empty. Not at first. In those final seven minutes, my life plays back like a reel, and every frame belongs to him. Our first kiss. Our first night tangled together. The vows we spoke when we promised forever. Even the mornings when we forgot to kiss goodbye.

It’s all him. Always him.

I don’t know if this is the end or a cruel mercy, but I do know one thing—somewhere inside these seven minutes is a choice, a chance, or a goodbye. And if love alone could bring me back, I’d open my eyes to him every time.

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