Fuck their limitations.
Fuck everyone who looked at me in that wheelchair and saw a broken man.
I'm not broken.
I'm healing.
Slowly. Painfully. In ways no one else can see.
But I'm healing.
My right leg moves forward. I take a step.
Another step.
Another.
"Bruno." Valentino's voice is closer now. Warning. "Don't push too hard."
I ignore him.
The doctors said small chance. They said unlikely. They said don't get your hopes up.
They didn't say impossible.
And that's all I needed to hear.
I turn and head back.
I lower myself into the wheelchair. My body aches. My legs feel like they're on fire. But there's something else underneath the pain.
Hope.
Actual, genuine hope.
I haven't felt that in two years.
I grip the wheels of my chair. Stare at my useless legs.
They're not useless. Not anymore. Not completely.
"I'm going to walk again," I say.
It's not a wish. Not a prayer. It's a statement of fact.
"I know," Valentino says.
"I'm going to walk to her."
Valentino doesn't ask who. He doesn't need to.
"I'm going to stand at my coronation. I'm going to walk across that room. And everyone who looked at me like I was finished they're going to watch me take back everything I lost."
Valentino is quiet for a long moment.
Then: "You've changed."
"What?"
