The spark I felt yesterday— a flicker of hope— was already fading.
This morning, the parallel bars seemed taller, colder, and somehow crueler. My legs refused to respond, stiff and uncooperative. My arms shook violently as I gripped the rails, sweat streaming down my temples.
"Again," Dr. Nelson urged, voice calm.
I groaned. "What's the point? I can't do it. I never will."
Ann's hand on my shoulder was gentle but firm. "Dennis, you can. Just one step at a time."
I yanked my hand away. "No. You don't get it. Three steps yesterday doesn't mean anything. Today I'm weaker. Today I feel nothing but useless."
Her eyes flared, hurt and frustration blending. "Dennis! Don't you dare give up on yourself!"
I slammed my good hand on the rail. Pain shot up my arm, and I swallowed back the scream. I wanted to throw something, break something, anything to release the fury.
Jacob, standing nearby, held his hands up defensively. "Hey, hey— don't take it out on her. She's trying to help."
"I'm not trying to help myself!" I shouted, voice cracking. "I'm failing every damn day, and everyone's pretending it's progress!"
I froze. His words pierced through me, but I refused to step back.
"I know it hurts, Dennis," I said softly. "I know it feels impossible. But that doesn't mean you're failing. You are fighting every second."
He shook his head violently, tears brimming. "I'm a burden! I'm making your life miserable! Look at me— trapped in this useless body while you… you have to carry me."
I took a step closer, refusing to retreat. "You think I'm carrying you? Dennis, I chose this. I chose you. And no setback will change that. Not today, not ever."
He looked away, jaw tight, the first tremors of self-pity breaking into desperation. "Why are you still here? You could leave. Go teach. Live your life without me."
I held his gaze. "And leave you? After everything we've been through? Dennis, you're my life. You're not a burden— you're my reason to keep fighting."
He swiveled his wheelchair to face the wall, covering his face with both hands. I followed, placing a hand gently on his back.
"Dennis," I whispered, "look at me. I'm not going anywhere. You hear me? Not. Going. Anywhere."
For a moment, silence fell. Only the rhythmic beep of the therapy monitors filled the room. Slowly, he exhaled, a shuddering, broken breath, and leaned into my hand.
That night, alone in my room, the defeat weighed on me like stones in my chest. I replayed the morning over and over—the shaky legs, the trembled arms, the bitter words to Ann.
I hated myself. I hated the body that betrayed me. I hated that she stayed.
I thought, maybe… maybe she'd be happier if I let her go. Freed from me. A life without me would be easier, brighter, unburdened.
But every memory of her laughter, every touch, every word of encouragement, kept gnawing at that idea. I couldn't. I wouldn't.
And yet, the fear lingered. Could I ever walk again? Could I ever be the man she deserves?
The next day, I arrived early to prepare breakfast and help him get ready for therapy.
He was quiet, brooding, eyes distant. I didn't push. I let him sit while I arranged the plates, letting the silence speak for a moment.
"Dennis," I said softly, "yesterday was hard. Today might be harder. But setbacks aren't the end. They're part of the journey."
He didn't look at me. "I'm tired, Ann. I'm so tired of trying, of failing, of hurting everyone I love."
I knelt beside him, taking his good hand. "Then let me share the weight. Let me be here for you. We can face the hard days together. That's what love is."
He turned his face toward me, eyes brimming. "And if I never recover? If I'm stuck like this forever?"
I squeezed his hand, fierce and unwavering. "Then I'll stay. Because life with you— imperfect, painful, frustrating— is still the only life I want."
For the first time in hours, he didn't pull away.
Jacob stopped by later, sensing my mood. He was lighter, joking, trying to bring some normalcy.
"You know," he said, dropping a hand on my shoulder, "it's not the end. Not even close. You're alive, you're talking, you're still fighting. And Ann? She's not going anywhere."
I swallowed hard. "I don't deserve her."
Jacob's eyes softened. "Maybe. But she sees more than that. She sees you— the man you were, the man you are, and the man you can be again. That's worth more than perfection."
I closed my eyes. Maybe he was right. Maybe the spark from yesterday hadn't gone out. Maybe it was only buried under my fear and frustration.
And maybe— just maybe— I could rise again.
That evening, I watched him attempt a few exercises alone, trembling but persistent. I didn't interfere. I let him try, fall, struggle, and rise again.
When he finally collapsed into the wheelchair, exhausted, I took his hand.
"You see?" I whispered. "Even in setbacks, you're moving forward. Even when it feels hopeless, there's progress."
He glanced at me, a flicker of gratitude and determination in his eyes. "I… I don't want to give up," he admitted softly.
I smiled, brushing his hair back. "Then don't. We'll take it one day, one step, one breath at a time. Together."
And for the first time in days, the house felt lighter, as though the shadows of struggle had softened just enough to let the sparks breathe.