Nineteen. There is something in this number; it not only brought us together, binding us forever, but also took part in dividing us. January nineteenth, 1996. I will never forget it. On this day we met. I was seven and she was six. On that day, she moved into the house next door, and on that day, I fell in love with a girl for the first time. Exactly nineteen years later, all my dreams came true when she became my wife. She was the love of my life. My soulmate. To my everyone. The reason I couldn't wait to wake up every morning. Then tragedy struck. Nineteen days after our wedding, she was in an accident that would change our lives forever. When she woke up from the coma, she didn’t remember me, us, our love. I was crushed. She was my air, and without her I could not breathe. The spark that once sparkled in her eyes when she looked at me was gone. Now I was a stranger to her. I not only lost my wife, I lost my best friend. But I refused to let this tragedy end our relationship. Then I started writing letters to her, stories of our lives. About how we met. About happy times and everything we experienced together. What happened between us is too wonderful to forget. This is our story...