Chapter 28

That evening, something happened that confirmed everything. He was in the hallway again when he heard her voice in the study; the door was not fully closed."After the ceremony," she was saying on the phone, "we'll move quickly. The guardianship filing is ready. With the medical reports and the board recommendation, it will be approved fast. He won't fight it. He's too tired. He just wants peace now."He felt his hands slowly curl into fists on the wheelchair arms. Too tired.He rolled quietly back down the hallway before she came out.That night, he didn't go to the backyard. He stayed in his room and practiced walking there: from the bed to the window, from the window to the door, again and again, like a man rehearsing for the most important performance of his life. At one point, he stopped in the middle of the room, standing without holding anything, just balancing on his own two legs.Three days, he thought. Three days ago, I was a man in a wheelchair. Three days from now, I stand up in front of everyone.He walked to the mirror and looked at himself standing there in the quiet room. "They thought the chair made me weak," he said quietly to his reflection. He stood there a little straighter. "But the chair taught me something." He looked into his own eyes in the mirror. "It taught me exactly who was trying to take my life."Two days before the wedding, the house was no longer just busy; it was loud, bright, and full of people who believed they were preparing for a celebration. A white tent had been set up in the garden. Rows of chairs were arranged facing a small stage covered in flowers. Electric lights were being tested even though it was still morning. Workers carried boxes, adjusted fabric, tested microphones. Everything was becoming real.He sat near the window in his wheelchair, watching them build the place where everything would end—or begin.She walked into the room with a folder in her hand and a smile on her face. "They're setting up the stage," she said. "Do you want to see? It's beautiful."He nodded. "Take me outside."She pushed his wheelchair slowly through the glass doors and onto the patio. The workers nodded politely to him, some of them smiling with sympathy, like people do when they see someone they believe has lost something important.He looked at the stage: white flowers, white chairs, white carpet leading up the small steps. He studied those steps very carefully: three steps up to the stage. He said nothing, but in his mind, he counted them again: one, two, three."You'll come up from this side," she said, pointing to a small ramp beside the steps, "so it will be easy with the chair.""With the chair," he nodded slowly. "You thought of everything."She smiled. "I told you, you don't have to worry about anything anymore."He looked at the stage again and imagined something different: not the ramp—the steps."Can we go closer?" he asked."Of course," she said, pushing him closer to the stage so the wedding planner could show them where the officiant would stand, where the photographer would be, where they would say their vows.

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