My Husband Planned His Wedding While I Was Comatose

Sunday morning. Grayson tells me his mother is coming for lunch.

"Just a casual thing," he says. "She's been wanting to see you."

I don't believe him. But I nod.

Sandra Payne arrives at noon. She's wearing a cream sweater and pearls. Her hair is perfect. She always looks like she's going somewhere important.

She walks into the living room. Sees me in the wheelchair by the window.

"Keira," she says. She comes over. Hugs me briefly. Her perfume is strong. Floral. "So glad you're feeling better."

She pulls back before I can say anything.

Then she turns. Walks straight to the kitchen. To Lily.

"Lily, darling," she says warmly. "Do you need help with anything?"

Lily smiles. "I'm almost done. But if you could set the table?"

"Of course."

They move through the kitchen together. Sandra knows where the plates are. The napkins. The serving bowls.

She's been here before. Many times.

I wheel myself to the doorway. Watch them.

"How's Jasper doing with soccer?" Sandra asks. "Grayson said he scored a goal last week."

"Two goals," Lily says. She's smiling. Proud. "He's getting really good."

"I can't wait for the tournament next month. I already marked it on my calendar."

"He'll be so excited you're coming."

Sandra sets the last fork down. Turns. Sees me in the doorway.

"Keira," she says. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?"

Her voice is polite. Careful. Like I'm a guest.

"I'm fine," I say.

She nods. Turns back to Lily. "Should we eat in the dining room or outside? The weather's nice."

"Outside, I think," Lily says.

They carry the food out. I follow.

We eat on the back patio. Sandra sits beside Lily. Across from Grayson. I'm at the end of the table.

Jasper sits between Grayson and Lily. He's wearing his soccer jersey. He keeps kicking his feet under the table.

"Grandma, watch this," he says. He makes a kicking motion with his leg.

Sandra laughs. "Very impressive, sweetheart."

She doesn't look at me once during lunch.

After we eat, Sandra and Lily clear the table together. I offer to help.

"No, no," Sandra says quickly. "You rest. We've got it."

I sit on the patio. Alone. Watch them through the glass door. Laughing. Talking.

Sandra leaves an hour later. She hugs Lily at the door. Long. Warm.

Then she turns to me. Pats my shoulder. Once.

"Take care of yourself, Keira," she says.

She doesn't say she'll visit again.

She doesn't have to.

---

That afternoon, I need something to do.

I wheel into the guest room. Open the closet. Look for my old photo albums. The ones I kept before the accident.

The closet is mostly empty. A few of Grayson's old jackets. Some boxes on the floor.

I look up.

There. On the highest shelf. Stacked boxes. Taped shut.

I recognize my handwriting on one of them. *Keira — Photos.*

I stare at the shelf. It's too high. I can't reach it from the wheelchair.

I try anyway. Stretch my arm up. My fingers brush the edge of the bottom box. But I can't get a grip.

I sit back. Stare at the boxes.

My things are still here. Technically.

They're just out of reach.

I wheel out of the room. Find Grayson in his office. He's on his laptop. Typing.

"Can you help me with something?" I ask.

He looks up. "Sure. What do you need?"

"There are boxes on the top shelf in the guest room closet. I want to look through them."

He nods. "Okay. I'll get them down this weekend."

"Can you do it now?"

He glances at his screen. "I'm in the middle of something. It'll just take a minute."

"Please," I say. "It won't take long."

He sighs. Rubs his eyes. "This weekend, Keira. I promise."

I don't argue. I wheel back to the guest room.

Stare at the shelf again.

This weekend.

He won't.

---

That night, I can't sleep again.

I lie in bed. Stare at the ceiling. Think about Sandra. About the way she hugged Lily. About the boxes I can't reach.

Around midnight, I pick up my phone.

Call Davina.

She answers on the third ring. Her voice is groggy but alert.

"Keira? You okay?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know it's late."

"It's fine. What's going on?"

I don't know where to start. So I just talk.

I tell her about the irises. About Jasper at the school. About the overheard conversation. About Sandra. About the boxes.

Davina listens. Doesn't interrupt.

When I finish, there's a long silence.

Then she says, quietly: "You already know what this is, Keira. You just haven't let yourself say it out loud yet."

I close my eyes. My throat is tight.

"I know," I whisper.

"So what are you going to do?"

I don't answer.

Because I don't know.

Not yet.