The monitors beeped wildly as his heart raced. He wanted to scream that his mind still worked, that he was still him. But Brianna had already grabbed the designer purse he’d gifted her and walked out without turning back.
After she left, the room felt enormous. He felt microscopic.
The weeks that followed were filled with fading sympathy. Friends brought flowers, awkward hugs, empty encouragement. Then fewer came. Then just texts: “Stay strong, man.” “You’ll bounce back.” As if paralysis were a minor inconvenience.
Only Ryan “Ry” Bennett stayed. Business partner. Best friend.
When Nate was discharged, Ry pushed his expensive new wheelchair down the hospital corridor.
“It’ll be okay,” Ry said, though his voice cracked.
“Don’t lie,” Nate muttered. “They’re all gone, right?”
Ry paused. “Not all. I’m here.”
“Because you care… or because you feel sorry for me?”
Ry didn’t answer. And that silence said enough.
The mansion in Lincoln Park felt hollow. Nate hired caregivers and fired them just as quickly—one treated him like a child, another sighed constantly, the third looked at him with barely disguised disgust.
“You need someone to manage the house,” Ry insisted. “Just someone steady.”