Chapter 17 - Learning to Stand Again
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The weeks that followed were a grueling test of human willpower.
While the legal system systematically dismantled Mark, Diane, and Vanessa, I was confined to a specialized physical rehabilitation center overlooking the city gardens.
The spinal hematoma slowly began to resolve as the blood clot dissolved, but the nerve pathways in my legs were weak, damaged, and stubborn.
Every morning at seven o'clock, two physical therapists would assist me onto the parallel bars.
"Come on, Claire," my lead therapist, Sarah, encouraged softly. "Send the signal from your brain to your right quad. Don't think about the pain. Think about holding your daughter while walking."
I gripped the cold stainless-steel bars until my knuckles turned white, sweat pouring down my neck as I fought to lift my right foot half an inch off the rubber mat.
"I can't," I gasped, my muscles shaking violently.
Rachel sat on a bench at the edge of the gym, holding two-month-old Lily in her arms. Lily kicked her little legs, making soft cooing noises.
"Look at her, Claire," Rachel said gently. "She's waiting for you."
I locked my eyes on my daughter. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the burning agony shooting through my lower back, and thrust my right leg forward.
My foot landed flat on the mat.
"Yes!" Sarah cheered. "Again!"
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By the end of the second month, I could stand unassisted for three minutes. By the third month, I took six shaky, agonizing steps across the parallel bars.
Every painful step was a victory over the man who had called me 'broken.'
