Not his wife. Only a burden.

The words settled over the room like a verdict. There was no apology hidden under his anger, no fear disguised as frustration.

He meant it. He genuinely believed my injuries had lowered my worth, because I could no longer cook, clean, organize his life, or make everything easier for him.

I looked at Lucy’s drawing taped to the wall beside my bed — our house with a crooked roof, three stick figures, a bright yellow sun in the corner.

COME HOME SOON, MOMMY, she’d written in uneven letters. She believed home was still waiting for me. She had no idea her father had just called me a burden.

Chapter 7 — No

Vincent grabbed the blanket and yanked it down. Cold air swept over the exposed casts.