The paralysis had never
been permanent.
I read the sentence three times, four times, my brain refusing to process the meaning. According to these documents—these official medical documents with letterheads and doctor signatures—Michael had regained partial mobility and sensation less than two years after the accident. With specialized surgery and intensive rehabilitation therapy, multiple medical professionals had concluded that he could have walked again. Perhaps not perfectly, perhaps with a limp or requiring assistance sometimes, but independently. Functionally.
I looked up at Michael slowly, my vision blurring with tears, my entire understanding of our life together crumbling.
“You told me,” I whispered, my voice breaking, “you told me you would never walk again. That it was impossible. That the doctors said there was no hope.“
He broke down immediately, sobbing, his whole body shaking.
“I was scared,” he cried, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I was terrified you’d leave me. Your parents already
