After I Faked My Death, He Finally Cried

Before we entered the private dining room, I changed my paralyzed boyfriend into a fresh pair of disposable briefs.

I wheeled Isaac Sanchez inside, and the first thing I heard was Willow Rodriguez mid-sentence：“Nancy Henson's got a disability fetish, seriously. You haven't seen the way she stares at his legs. The look on her face is pure obsession.”

My grip tightened on the wheelchair handles. I looked down at Isaac. Not a trace of embarrassment on his face.

Willow glanced up the moment we came through the door, her smile bright and easy.“Isaac, aren't you tired of the whole invalid act yet? Why don't you do a little magic trick for Nancy.”

And just like that, the man who had been sitting in the wheelchair slowly pushed himself to his feet.“Yeah. I'm over it.”

He turned to face me, the corner of his mouth lifting.“Nancy. I've recovered. Happy?”

That mocking stare, without a flicker of guilt. I couldn't even find a place to put my anger.

I didn't have much time left. I was done playing along.

“You're right, I do have a thing for the disabled. Since you've recovered, let's break up.”

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes ping-ponged between the three of us.

Isaac froze.“Don't joke around. I know exactly what kind of person you are. I kept it from you for one month. Is that really worth all this?”

He pulled out a chair and sat down as if nothing had happened.“You guys have no idea. When my legs were bad, she got up twice a night to turn a hundred-and-fifty-pound man over in bed. She helped me with the bedpan. Spent every day elbow-deep in filth. Who else is gonna want her after all that?”

He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him.

“Stop with the face. Sit down and eat.”

I forced the corners of my mouth up. A bitter, hollow smile.

Dishes filled the table. I held my chopsticks but didn't touch a single one, just picking at the plain rice in my bowl.

Not one dish on the table was something I liked. Some of them I was allergic to. Every single one was something Willow loved.

Five years together, and Isaac still hadn't learned what I ate.

He glanced at the bare white rice in my bowl, his expression souring.“I say a few things to you and now you're throwing a tantrum and refusing to eat.”

He picked up a few garlic scapes and dropped them into my bowl.“You've gotten so thin taking care of me. Eat more.”

I leaned forward and the smell hit me. My hand flew to my mouth as I gagged.

Isaac slammed his chopsticks down.“When did you get so high-maintenance?”

I'd always been a picky eater. My parents used to say I had princess tastes on a pauper's budget and that one day I'd starve.

After Isaac and I got together, he used to cook for me and pick out every sliver of scallion, ginger, and garlic from my food before I even asked.

“Do you think I'm impossible? That I won't eat anything?”

Isaac's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he curled his finger to flick my forehead gently.“Silly girl. Everyone has their preferences. My job's just to go along with yours.”

I stared down at the rice in my bowl, my heart wrenched like a fist had closed around it—a vicious, savage pain.

Isaac pushed a glass of water toward me and lowered his voice.“Whatever this is, we'll deal with it at home. Just finish the meal.”

He'd kept me in the dark for a month, and to him, I wasn't even allowed a reaction.

I wasn't his girlfriend. I was his caretaker.

Before long, a few of Isaac's friends got drunk enough to lose their filters, and one of them started rambling.“Bro, I'm telling you, you should've just been with Willow. If it weren't for her that night, your legs would've never……”

Isaac clamped his hand over the guy's mouth, eyes darting to me in barely concealed panic.“He's wasted.”

I don't know where the strength came from, but I pried Isaac's hand away.“Let him talk.”

“Three years ago, Isaac was at a conference in the next city over. He got a call. Willow said she was scared of the thunder and couldn't sleep. Didn't even think twice. Jumped in his car in the middle of a downpour to drive back. The car hydroplaned, he lost control, and that's how his legs got messed up.”

That night, my mother was being rushed into the ICU. I was frantic. I called Isaac over and over. Every call went unanswered.

I sent more than a dozen messages after that. Nothing. Dead silence.

The next word I got about him was from the hospital.

For years, I believed his accident was because of me.

I never stopped to think that the drive from the neighboring city to ours took two hours.

He'd made it in one hour, five minutes, and seventeen seconds. His departure time lined up exactly with the moment Willow called.

My fists clenched so hard my nails broke through the skin of my palms, blood welling in the creases, and I didn't feel a thing.“You were driving back for her?”

Three years. Three years I spent caring for a paralyzed man. Feeding him, dressing him, managing every detail of his life. Absorbing his rages, his mood swings. And the woman who caused it all got to sit there and call me a disability fetishist.

The warmth drained from my eyes as I looked at him, and Isaac faltered for a moment.“I'm like a brother to her. When Willow can't sleep, she gets migraines. I couldn't just ignore that.”

My jaw locked. I could hear my own voice breaking into a cry. “I only want to know one thing. That night. Did you see my messages?”

Something guilty flashed through Isaac's eyes. He turned his face away, his thumb brushing the wetness at the corner of my eye, his voice low and measured.“I was driving. I only glanced at them.”

He knew my mother was in the ICU. He knew how desperately I needed him. And he still drove, without hesitation, in the opposite direction.

Willow suddenly spoke up.“It's all my fault, one way or another. I shouldn't have called. Miss Henson, I owe you an apology.”