Power of Words

It was late at night, and Michelle and I were lying in bed talking. The room was quiet, and the soft hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound. We were relaxed, half awake, half asleep.

Then it hit me. A sharp pain in my right thigh. It came out of nowhere. At first, I thought it would pass, but it got worse. Within seconds, it felt like something had grabbed hold of the muscle and refused to let go.

I gritted my teeth and pressed my hand against it. “My leg,” I said. “It hurts bad.”

Michelle sat up beside me, her voice filled with worry. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

I could barely answer. The pain was so strong I could feel sweat starting on my forehead. “My thigh. It’s bad. I can’t even move it.”

She looked at me with sympathy and held my hand. “I wish I could take it from you,” she said softly.

I turned my head toward her. “You would?”

She nodded. “Yes. I would.”

I managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Hun. But that’s not how it works.”

I tried to laugh a little, but I couldn’t. The pain was too much. It was deep, sharp, and constant. Then, suddenly, it stopped.

It was gone. Just like that.

I froze for a second, waiting for it to come back, but it didn’t. I flexed my leg, testing it. The pain that had me on the edge of going to the hospital had vanished completely.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “It’s gone.”

Before I could say another word, Michelle gasped. Her hand shot to her left thigh.

“Joey,” she said, her voice shaking. “Something’s wrong.”

I sat up fast. “What do you mean?”

“It’s burning,” she said. “It’s hot.”

I reached over to touch her leg, and my hand jerked back instantly. The heat was real. It felt like fire under her skin.

“Hun, it’s hot,” I said. “It’s really hot.”

Tears filled her eyes as the pain grew stronger. She gripped her thigh and leaned forward, crying from the intensity. I could feel the panic rise in my chest.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” I said, already throwing on my clothes.

She could barely walk, so I helped her to the car. Every small movement made her wince. I started the engine and drove as fast as I could without speaking.

When we got to the hospital, the nurses saw how much pain she was in and rushed her back. They touched her leg and pulled their hands away. I saw the surprise on their faces.

“It’s hot,” one nurse said quietly. “Really hot.”

They ran every test possible. Blood work. Scans. Everything they could think of. But every result came back normal. No injury. No swelling. No reason for the pain.

We sat there for hours, waiting for an answer that never came. Michelle was exhausted, her face pale, her body shaking from the pain.

Then it hit me.

She had said she would take my pain. And somehow, she did.

I looked at her sitting there, and all I could feel was guilt and awe. I didn’t know how something like that could happen, but it did.

When we got home later that night, the pain began to fade from her body. The redness disappeared, the heat cooled, and before long, she was fine again. It was like it never happened.

Now, when I joke with her and say, “Hun, want to take this pain for me?” she cuts me off before I can even finish.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Never again.”

I believe her.

That night changed something in both of us. It showed me how powerful love can be. It showed me that words are not just words. They have power. And that night, her words carried mine.

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