Progress
Sometimes he expected her to walk into the room. Sometimes he expected her to smile up at him in that way she always did, that ever-present twinkle in her eye. Sometimes he expected to kiss her, revelling in the feel and touch of her lips on his. Sometimes he expected her to be in his bed when he woke up in the morning, nestling safe and snug in his arms. Sometimes he expected to make love to her, sweetly, gently, passionately, as if they had all the time in the world.
Sometimes happened less often now.
He was making progress.