Chapter 18 - Words Dragged Through Gravel
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Inside the ground floor bedroom, Russell sat in his wheelchair by the window, watching the rain hit the glass.
He had heard the conversation at the front door.
Leona walked into the room carrying a cup of water and set it on the nightstand beside him. She turned to leave, but Russell reached out with his functional right hand and caught the hem of her cardigan.
"Le... ona..." he rasped out, his speech clearer now after weeks of grueling therapy, though still heavy and slurred. "Please... stop."
Leona paused, looking down at his hand gripping her sweater. "Stop what, Russell?"
"Talk... to me," he begged, tears welling in his eyes. "You... treat me... like a... ghost."
"You became a ghost six years ago," Leona said softly, not pulling her sweater away, but not leaning in either. "You just didn't realize it until you hit the floor."
"I'm... sorry," Russell sobbed, his shoulders shaking as the weight of his reality crushed him. "I was... stupid. I... I lost... everything."
"You didn't lose it," Leona corrected him, looking him straight in the eye. "You traded it. You traded your wife, your daughter's trust, and your dignity for a woman who ran away the second she realized the money was frozen."
Russell squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving with silent, agonizing sobs.
"Molly..." he choked out. "Will she... ever... see me?"
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Leona looked down at the man who had once been her partner, feeling a profound, quiet sorrow—not for him, but for the years they had wasted pretending.
"That is up to Molly," Leona said gently. "Not me."
