The Wife They Left in a Wheelchair

2: 2

2

In the video, Sawyer cradled newborn Noah so carefully he hardly dared move his arms.

When they wheeled me out of surgery, the only thing beside me was an empty chair meant for family.

After the anesthesia wore off, the pain kept me awake all night.

The woman caring for the patient in the next bed couldn't stand to watch. She poured me a cup of warm water.

She asked me, "When's your husband coming?"

I kept my eyes on the door and told myself the same lie, over and over.

"Soon."

But dawn came, and no one did.

The screen kept playing.

Sawyer was in every clip.

Changing the baby's diaper. Holding him to feed him.

When Noah ran a fever, he sat by the bed all night without sleeping.

For four years, every time the child needed him, he was there.

Then came the clip of Noah's first steps.

Sawyer crouched on the soft carpet, arms open toward him.

"Noah, don't be scared."

"Daddy's got you."

The child wobbled toward him.

Two steps in, his little body pitched forward.

Sawyer caught him at once and swung him high in the air.

Laughter filled the private room.

My mother pointed at the screen, her voice fond.

"Noah was such a timid little thing. He'd only walk if he could see his daddy."

But I was staring at the date in the corner of the video.

That same day was the first time I did my rehab without crutches.

The doctor told me to walk the whole length of the hallway on my own.

I took one step and dropped hard to the floor.

My knee split open, and my palms scraped raw and bloody.

I pushed myself up against the wall, again and again, and fell down again and again.

Halfway there, I couldn't hold on any longer. I called Sawyer, crying.

"Can you come and be with me? It hurts so much. I really can't walk anymore."

Sawyer was quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was full of impatience.

"Edna, rehab is supposed to teach you to be independent."

"I can't be by your side to catch you forever."

"Stop depending on other people so much."

The line went dead.

In the end, I leaned on the wall and walked out of the hospital alone.

Every step felt like walking on knives.

And at that very moment.

Sawyer was crouched in front of another child, telling him gently,

"Don't be scared. Daddy will always catch you."

The pain in my left leg grew sharper and sharper.

I couldn't stay standing. I slid down against the wall until I was crouched on the floor.

The ribbon on the gift box cut into my palm, leaving a thin line of blood.

The light from the private room spilled out through the gap in the door and stopped right at my feet.

Just short.

No matter what, it never reached me.