Forty-seven

 Peggy,

    Knocked on my door. She stood, looking like she had cried for a week, a little shivering, looking like shit. Wrapped a coat around (isn't that what you do?). On my couch; she loves hot chocolate, but she said no, tea would be better. Drank a few sips, put it down, laid her head on the pillows, feet were still on the floor, was instantly asleep, so, took her shoes off, put her feet up, covered her up, left a light on. In the morning, got her to eat some toast and more tea, was asleep before I left for work. Came home, some soup this time, more sleep. I couldn't. Sat watching through the night, dosing off and on through it till sunrise.

    Peggy, I have never been so scared in my life. And yet never so happy. Ok, relieved. 

    Fed her a real breakfast the second day. She seemed awake. Came home to a showered, clothed in my sweats and tee, sleeping person. Repeat of the night before. We both dosed off and on and I got pieces of the adventure during off times. I didn't want to go to work the third day, but she insisted, nearly herself. Fine. Got home that evening, she had fixed a simple dinner and again we talked, this time into the night. I went to bed about two, she was already asleep on the couch. It was been a very hard, painful, tiring weekend. One of the best I've had since we first met. 

    She asked me not to tell you. Yet.