Inside, the familiar smell of antiseptic hit me. A nurse told me Andrew was in the courtyard getting sunlight.
I walked toward the glass doors leading to the garden, paused to smooth my hair, and caught my reflection—dark circles, tired eyes, a woman worn thin. “It’s fine,” I thought. “You’re here.”
I reached for the door handle—and froze.
Andrew’s voice floated through the glass.
“…you learn to adapt,” he was saying. “Life takes your legs, but it gives you other perks.”
He was talking to Frank Miller, another rehab patient.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Frank chuckled. “Your wife does everything for you.”
Andrew laughed. Not weak. Not bitter. Confident.
“Please. Isabel’s dependable. But let’s be honest—where would she go? I hit the jackpot.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got a full-time nurse, cook, driver, and maid. Costs me nothing. Not even benefits.”
My stomach dropped.
“But she’s your wife.”
“She is. And she’s useful. Obedient. I tell her jump, she jumps. And the best part?” He lowered his voice. “She thinks she’s inheriting everything.”
Frank laughed. “Seriously?”