Relief swept over me as I mumbled, “That’s me,” into her shiny black hair, trying to steal some of her enthusiasm.

She reached up to pat my back, telling me how sorry she was for what we were going through. “I love this girl too, you know,” she whispered, then pulled away and looked up into my eyes, hers glistening with unshed tears.

All too soon, she pulled away and seemed to bury her worry deep inside before she plopped down on the bed next to Aly. Smiling brightly as she chattered about random inconsequential things, she dug through her enormous purse until she found a hairbrush, then nudged Aly until she sat up and turned her back so Hilary could brush her hair.

Aly didn’t speak, but tears slipped from her eyes as Hilary rambled on.

When she noticed Aly reach up to swipe away a tear, Hilary stopped and caught Aly’s chin, turning her face toward hers. “Aly, honey, I know you don’t trust easy, but you trust me, and I’m telling you it’s going to work out,” she whispered.

Reaching her hand to brush Aly’s hair away from her face, Hilary went on. “See that man? He’s it for you. I knew when you told me about him a few weeks ago. I could see the twinkle in your eye. It had never been there before, and I want to see it back. So you get better and when you are, you’ll see I’m right.”

When she left a few hours later, Hilary squeezed my hand, sticking her business card with her cell number written on it inside my palm. “Stay strong and keep me posted, Jake. She doesn’t have too many people in her corner. She needs you.” With a gentle kiss on the cheek, Hilary left me to pretend to be brave again.

After ten days, my beautiful Alyson Road went to rehab a mute, and we—Bess, Lane, James, Barry, and even Camper—all continued to move forward, crossing our fingers she’d come around soon.

Aly

Disgusting salty-smelling sweat trickled down my back. Even the underarms of my T-shirt were soaked through.

“Good job, Aly!” my physical therapist chirped at me.

I didn’t respond; instead I repeated the task once more. Using only my arms, I transferred myself from the chair to the bed and back again. My right foot dragged on the floor, and my stupid stump hung there useless because I refused the temporary prosthetic, wanting the constant reminder of my half-a-woman status.

I went back and forth a few more times before finally falling back on the pillow. Settling my right leg and shutting my eyes, I tried to sneak in a cat nap, even though I didn’t believe they would let me stay there and be comfortable.

“Aly, we have one more exercise, and then you can go back to your room,” Little Miss Chipper said, and I nodded.

I didn’t talk anymore. Sadness coursed through my entire body, rendering words useless.

Why did I need to speak anyway? I wasn’t practicing law. I wasn’t working or studying or climbing stairs. I wasn’t falling in love. I was in an awful-smelling, ugly, bleached environment surrounded with other victims. Some suffered from strokes while others had been in accidents. They were a cross-section of society, both old people and young daredevils, and I despised all of them.

I was rehabbing, which was another way of saying I was broken and they were trying to fix me. There was no cure for losing half your leg, apparently.

“Crutches or chair?”

Sunny, my therapist, was so peppy and cute. She was all smiles, all the time, and I hated her.

I heaved myself back to the chair and up onto my crutches. No way was I riding in a wheelchair. They tried to do that with me a few times, and I became so combative, they had to sedate me.

We did the stupid stretches on the mat, then Sunny worked out the kinks in my neck. The neck rub was heavenly, so I actually muttered a thank-you before loping back to my room on the crutches.

Finally settled in my bed with my eyes closed, enjoying a quiet moment being left the hell alone, I heard a soft knock on my door and huffed out a sigh.

Who now?

No one ever left me alone. Jake came every day, always with goodies in hand, both for me and for the nurses. Sometimes they were smoothies, other days they were some organic vegan brownies that were supposed to be full of protein. Whatever. I wasn’t interested, not in food or anything else.

Jake would murmur with the nursing staff about me, probably going over my progress with them, and then would sit with me while I didn’t say shit. He’d run his hand up and down my arm, telling me all about the gym. And every day, he would say he was sorry.

He mentioned never letting anything bad happen to me again each time he visited. But what if I was the bad thing happening to him?

“I don’t know what happened with us,” he told me two days ago. “It was quick. One minute I was a bachelor, and the next minute, I wanted to take care of you every second. It was like I saw a better me in you. I know I bossed you around and made you move, but something hit me hard with you.” Trying to catch my eye, he leaned closer and whispered, “Please, Aly, say something.”

Yesterday it was, “Aly, I care for you, I’m not going anywhere.” He’d brought dinner—grilled chicken and rice—and I refused it, pointing at my tray.

I’d been here at rehab close to a month. Each day, I banked on them giving up on my bullshit, but apparently they decided I was getting a prosthetic. It was ugly and a poor replacement for what once had resided there. Then I was going home.

Well, not home, to Jake’s place. Of course, I assumed the crew would all be there, the usual bystanders always encouraging me to “do it” and “conquer this” and “achieve that.”

“Aly?” my visitor called.

I swiped a hand across my face, concealing the newly fallen tears, then looked toward the door. Bess stood there, her brown hair flowing down her back, her two skinny legs tucked into dark jeans, and a broad smile on her face.

“Can I come in?” she asked, false enthusiasm filling her words and facial expression.

I nodded, although another cheerleading session was the last thing I wanted.

She sat down on the edge of the bed like she did all the other times she visited. Usually she’d rattle on about her baby or Jake, how much he cared for me, or something like the weather. Summer and the promise of new life was everywhere except in my ugly, desolate rehab room.

I was stuck inside, unable to do anything. Who cared about the weather?

Bess held my gaze and used her no-nonsense “mom” voice. “We are going to talk today, Aly. You’re going to speak to me, and we’re going to make plans for when you go home.”

Saying nothing, I just stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

Undeterred, Bess went on. “We’ve all given you time, but that ends now. Jake is a wreck. He’s going to murder someone if you don’t come around. It’s time for you to be strong for yourself. You’re alive and that’s what counts.”

When I raised an eyebrow, she sighed.

“Look, if you can’t be strong for yourself, be strong for him. Jake’s barely hanging on. The guilt, the sadness, everything, it’s tearing him apart. He’s hopeful one moment and depressed the next. Then there’s Shirley. He hates her for what she did when he was a kid, but is grateful to her for saving you. It’s driving him nuts.”

No one had ever bothered to fill me in, but I finally put it all together about my rescuer by eavesdropping on Bess and Jake talking in the hallway. Shirley wanted back in Jake’s good graces and to make amends, so she was using my severed leg as a bargaining chip. Apparently Jake wasn’t buying it. Yes, he was thankful she found me and told her so, but that didn’t erase all that had happened years ago.

When I learned that, I’d sat in my hospital bed and half wished she’d have let me bleed out and die. After all, my life was over. I was nothing more than half a woman, a gimp. No one would want me, and why would they? I didn’t deserve happiness.