Chapter 18

"Training you to obey," she said.He leaned back and looked up at the sky: gray clouds moving slowly, like time passing."The board of directors will all be at the wedding," he said. "Investors, too. Important people. If I stand up there in front of all of them and show the video, the financial records, the pills, she won't be able to talk her way out of it."The girl looked at him. "Are you scared?" she asked.He thought about that question carefully before answering. "Yes," he said. "Not because of her. Because of myself."She frowned slightly. "What do you mean?""I built my life on being strong," he said, "on making good decisions, on seeing problems before they happen. And still, I let this happen to me. I trusted the wrong person. I signed papers without reading carefully because I was tired. I took pills without asking questions because I was afraid. I gave someone control because I didn't want to fight while I was in pain." He looked down at his hands. "That's the part that scares me," he said quietly, "not that she betrayed me, but that I helped her do it by giving up control."The girl was quiet for a moment. Then she said something very softly: "My grandpa says trusting someone is not a mistake. The mistake is when you keep trusting after you see the truth."He looked at her and nodded slowly. "Then I guess I'm done making that mistake," he said.He placed his hands on the bench and stood up again, even though his legs were already tired."What are you doing?" she asked."Walking again," he said."You should rest," she said.He shook his head. "No," he said. "Because every day I sit in that chair, she gets closer to winning. And every step I take, I get closer to ending this."He took one step, then another: slow, painful, shaking steps along the stone path behind the house, where no one inside could see clearly.Inside the house, she was probably choosing flowers and music for the wedding. Outside the house, the man she thought she had already defeated was learning how to walk again.By the time the wedding was only ten days away, the house no longer felt like his home. It felt like a stage being prepared for a performance, and he was the main prop.Every room was full of movement. Boxes arrived with suits, decorations, wine, gifts. The wedding planner walked through the house like a director: pointing at tables, measuring spaces, talking about lighting and camera angles. Everything had to look perfect. Everything had to look like a beautiful love story. And in that love story, he was the man in the chair.That morning, she came into his room with the pills as usual. Her routine never changed: smile, water, pills, gentle voice.

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