Physical therapy sessions were exercises in frustration and determination. A cheerful therapist named Maria taught her how to transfer from bed to wheelchair and navigate basic daily activities with limited mobility.
"The key is to be patient with yourself," Maria explained during their second session, watching as Willow struggled withthe coordination required to wheel herself across the small therapy room. "Your body has been through trauma, and healing takes time."
But patience had never been one of Willow's strengths, especially when she felt so helpless and dependent on others for basic needs.
The police interviews were perhaps the most difficult part of her hospital stay. Detective Martinez, a kind woman in her forties, visited twice to take Willow's statement about the stalking and kidnapping. Recounting Doug's transformation from friendly colleague to dangerous stalker required her to relive moments she'd rather forget, but she knew her testimony would be crucial for keeping him behind bars.
"He kept calling me Rose," she told the detective during their final interview. "Even when I was fighting him, screaming that I was Willow, he couldn't separate me from the character I played fifteen years ago. It was like he'd created this entire relationship in his mind based on scripted interactions."
Throughout her hospitalization, Casper remained a constant, reassuring presence. He handled the flood of phone calls from concerned friends, her publisher, and various media outlets seeking statements about the incident. When she was too exhausted or overwhelmed to deal with the outside world, he became her buffer, protecting her privacy while keeping people informed about her condition.
Her university friends managed a brief video call that left her tearful with gratitude for their support, while Aaliyah sent daily text updates and handled the logistics of canceling upcoming appearances. The hospital room was filled with flower arrangements from colleagues, fans, and industry professionals, but Willow asked the nurses to distribute them to other patients, especially children in the pediatric wing who might be brightened by the unexpected beauty.
On her final morning in the hospital, as discharge papers were being prepared, Willow felt overwhelmed by the complexity of instructions for her recovery. The occupational therapist had provided a thick folder of guidelines for wheelchair navigation, ankle care, and gradual mobility restoration that seemed impossibly daunting when she considered returning to her small Nebraska house.
"The bathroom doorframes are too narrow for the wheelchair," she mentioned to Casper as they reviewed the discharge instructions together. "And there are steps up to the front porch, steps down to the back deck. I never realized how inaccessible my own home would be."
Casper's expression remained carefully neutral as he helped pack her few belongings into a small bag. "Don't worry about logistics right now. We'll figure everything out."
His reassurance was gentle but vague, and Willow scrutinized his face for clues about what "we" meant in practical terms. He'd been evasive about his own plans, focused entirely on her immediate needs while avoiding any discussion of his return to Montana or how long his protection assignment would continue.
When a hospital aide arrived with a wheelchair to transport her to the main entrance, Willow felt a surge of panic about facing the world beyond the controlled environment of her hospital room. The wheelchair felt foreign and limiting, a visible symbol of vulnerability that she wasn't ready to accept as her new reality.
Casper rolled her through the hospital corridors with confident efficiency, his hand occasionally touching her shoulder in a gesture of comfort and connection. Outside, a black sedan waited at the curb, and she watched him handle the logistics of getting her safely into the passenger seat, then folding the wheelchair for transport.
"Where are we going?" she asked as the driver pulled away from the hospital.
"Airport," Casper replied simply. "Nathan arranged for a private plane to take you home."
The word "home" felt strange and uncertain. Her small house in Nebraska had been her sanctuary for over a year, but now it represented nothing but obstacles and limitations. How would she manage grocery shopping from a wheelchair? Cooking meals when she couldn't reach the upper cabinets? Navigating the narrow hallways and doorways that had seemed perfectly adequate when she was fully mobile?
As they drove toward the airport, Willow's thoughts spiraled deeper into anxiety. Casper hadn't mentioned his departure plans, but she knew his assignment would eventually end. He had a life in Montana, responsibilities to LSI, and a job that would inevitably take him away from her precisely when she needed him most.
The thought of being alone in her house, dependent on a wheelchair and unable to perform basic tasks, filled her with a terror that felt almost as intense as her fear during Doug's attack. At least then she'd known what she was fighting against. This felt like drowning in uncertainty and helplessness.
"I think I'll call Aaliyah," she said suddenly as they approached the airport. "Maybe she could come stay with me for a few weeks, help me adjust to everything."
Casper glanced at her with an expression she couldn't read. "That's an option."
His noncommittal response only increased her anxiety. If he thought having Aaliyah help was just "an option," what did that mean for their relationship? Would he visit her occasionally? Had their intense connection been a product of extraordinary circumstances that would fade once normal life resumed?
The private plane Nathan had arranged sat gleaming on the tarmac, smaller than commercial aircraft but luxurious in its appointments. Casper lifted her from the car with the careful strength she'd grown to depend on, carrying her up the aircraft steps while airport personnel loaded her wheelchair and their luggage.
Once settled in the comfortable cabin seats, Willow was unable to maintain conversation despite Casper's gentle attempts to engage her. The weight of uncertainty about her future, both immediate and long-term, pressed down on her like a physical force that made breathing difficult.
Her practical concerns about household accessibility blended with deeper fears about whether Casper would remain part of her life once his professional obligations ended. The man who had become essential to her sense of safety and emotional well-being hadn't made any commitments beyond ensuring she got home safely.
As the plane lifted off from Kansas City, taking her away from the site of her trauma but toward an uncertain future, exhaustion finally overcame anxiety. Her head found its natural resting place against Casper's shoulder, and despite her racing thoughts, sleep claimed her for the remainder of the flight.
In her dreams, she was still falling down the concrete steps, calling for help that never seemed to come, while the man she loved remained just out of reach, no matter how desperately she tried to find him.
40
Casper glanced at Willow as she slept against his shoulder, her face finally peaceful after days of pain and anxiety etched into every line of her features. The steady hum of the aircraft engines provided a cocoon of white noise that seemed to protect this moment of quiet intimacy, but his mind was anything but calm.
He knew she'd been unusually quiet during their departure from the hospital, and he'd been equally reticent. His silence was born of cowardice rather than consideration. Every instinct screamed at him to reassure her, to explain what he'd arranged, to tell her that he had no intention of abandoning her to face recovery alone. But the words kept getting tangled in his throat, trapped by fears he couldn't bring himself to voice.
What if she didn't want to be with him? What if she saw his arrangements as presumptuous rather than protective? What if she thought he was acting out of obligation rather than love?
