Chapter 6 - I LEARNED HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT HER
My new aide was named Marcus.
He was excellent.
I hated him for three days.
Not because of anything he did.
Because he wasn't Tessa.
On day four, Marcus said:
“You know I can request reassignment.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because every time I enter, you look disappointed.”
I almost apologized.
Then realized I should.
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded.
“Accepted.”
Apparently honest caregivers were an entire species.
Without Tessa, therapy became harder.
And better.
I stopped performing for her.
Stopped trying to prove anything.
I began asking what kind of life I could build if my legs never recovered.
That question frightened me more than walking exercises.
So I answered it.
I modified my office.
Returned to meetings.
Installed accessibility changes throughout my properties.
Sold businesses tied to violence.
Closed operations that depended on fear.
Men complained.
Some left.
I let them.
The empire became smaller.
Cleaner.
Mine.
Three months after Tessa resigned, I rolled into a coffee shop near her apartment.
She looked up from her laptop.
“You're stalking me.”
“Romantically.”
“Still stalking.”
“I brought witnesses.”
Hector sat at another table pretending not to watch.
She laughed.
That sound was worth the drive.
I ordered coffee.
We talked for two hours.
No medical care.
No therapy.
No bathing.
Just Vincent and Tessa.
She told me about nursing school.
She had dropped out when her sister became sick.
I asked if she wanted to return.
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I can pay my own tuition.”
“I wasn't offering.”
“Good.”
“I was going to say you're terrifying enough to survive clinical rotations.”
She smiled.
We started dating.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Beautifully.
Then one morning, six months after she resigned, I stood between parallel bars.
Marcus beside me.
Therapist behind me.
Tessa watching from across the room.
I shifted my weight.
My right quadriceps contracted.
Everyone froze.
“Again,” my therapist whispered.
I tried.
Movement.
Tiny.
Real.
Tessa covered her mouth.
I laughed.
Then cried.
Recovery was still uncertain.
Walking independently might never happen.
But something had changed.
Tessa approached.
I shook my head.
“Don't help.”
She stopped.
I pushed.
My leg trembled.
Half an inch.
Maybe less.
It was the smallest movement I had ever been proud of.
Tessa whispered:
“Show-off.”
I smiled.
Then the window behind her shattered.
Everyone dropped.
May you like
A bullet struck the wall.
Dominic had found us.
