Once, while I held an icepack to her swollen cheek, she insisted he was a really good man who just had a drinking problem.
Coming home after drinking one evening, his car hit a tree.
We rushed to the hospital—he had undergone emergency surgery. The surgeon said he could die.
We went to the hospital chapel, where we prayed for him.
Two hours later, he passed.
My prayers, not hers, were answered.