The Torn Photograph

The transition wasn't without hurdles. One winter evening, Mia spiked a dangerously high fever. Her breathing became shallow. Panic, raw and paralyzing, gripped Arthur. He flashed back to the beep of Elena’s heart monitor.
He rushed her to the very hospital wing he had recently funded. As the doctors examined her, Arthur paced the hallway, praying to a God he hadn't spoken to in years. Take my wealth. Take my company. Just don't take her.
The doctor emerged, smiling gently. ""It's just a severe case of the flu, Mr. Sterling. She’s resting comfortably. She’ll be fine.""
Arthur slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor, burying his face in his hands as tears of pure relief washed over him. When he walked into her room, Mia opened her eyes.
""You stayed,"" she croaked.
""Always,"" Arthur whispered, kissing her hot forehead. ""I will always stay.""