I make it to my room. Close the door.
Then I lean against it. Let the tears come.
Not loud sobs. Just silent streams down my cheeks.
I hate this. Hate seeing him like this.
Hate that I can't fix it.
I slide down to the floor. Wrap my arms around my knees.
The image of him standing flashes through my mind.
His hands on the wheelchair arms. His legs supporting his weight.
It looked so real.
But maybe he's right. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.
Maybe he was just shifting. Using his arms to lift himself.
I've seen him do that before. Adjusting his position in the chair.
It could have been that.
I wipe my eyes. Try to think logically.
If Bruno could walk, he would tell someone. Wouldn't he?
He wouldn't hide it. Not from the family.
Unless he was ashamed. Or scared.
Or maybe he's not ready yet. Maybe he's still learning. Still testing.
I shake my head. This is ridiculous.
I'm making up stories. Seeing things that aren't there.
Bruno is paralyzed. The doctors were clear about that.
The bullet damaged his spine. Permanently.
There's no coming back from that.
I stand. Walk to my bed. Sit on the edge.
My phone buzzes again. Amanda asking if I changed my mind about coffee.
I ignore it.
I can't think about coffee right now. Or packing. Or the wedding.
All I can think about is Bruno.
Standing there. In his room.
Or not standing. Because I was wrong.
