I’m Kate. Eight months ago, a drunk driver left me unable to walk. In the hospital, my husband Daniel held my hand and promised we’d get through it—but at home things changed. He worked late, moved to the guest room, and treated me like I might break. I missed him more than I missed walking.
Three months later, Daniel hired Martha, a kind housekeeper who became my companion. One morning she arrived early and saw Daniel locking the basement door and heard a woman’s voice downstairs. I feared he was with someone else.
The next day, Martha helped me find the basement key. We went down, bracing for betrayal—but instead found a therapy studio Daniel had built, with equipment and a sunflower mural, and Sophie, the therapist whose voice Martha heard.
Daniel explained it was a surprise for our anniversary—he wasn’t distancing himself, he was helping me heal. Sophie trained me three times a week, and slowly I improved: a toe, a shaky step, then walking across the basement alone.
Tonight I’ll wear a black dress and walk into a restaurant with Daniel, hand in hand. I thought I’d lost everything, but instead found a love that fights for me.