Sometimes he imagined them dancing in the kitchen of their first apartment, barefoot and laughing because neither could remember the steps.
After the accident, he’d pictured them simply being married.
For a while, that had seemed like more than enough to hope for.
Eighteen months earlier, Elena had been driving home from an evening class when a collision on the highway changed their lives.
She suffered several serious injuries, including damage to her pelvis and left leg that left her with lasting weakness, pain, and problems with balance.
The recovery was exhausting.
There were surgeries.
Long hospital days.
Appointments that seemed to multiply faster than they could schedule them.
And months when Elena couldn’t imagine being comfortable in her own body again.
James remembered the first time she cried because she couldn’t get from their bedroom to the bathroom without assistance.
She’d been furious with him for offering help.
Then furious with herself for needing it.
He’d stood in the doorway, holding a towel, unsure whether to approach her.
Eventually, she’d said, “Please stop looking at me like I’m going to break.”
He’d never forgotten that.
Over time, they learned new routines.
They rearranged their apartment.
They found furniture that gave Elena space to maneuver.
James stopped automatically reaching for her wheelchair handles without asking.
Elena learned how to explain when she needed assistance and when she wanted to manage something herself.
Neither of them handled every day perfectly.
Some evenings ended in arguments about exhaustion, pain, or appointments.
Others ended with takeout containers on the coffee table and Elena laughing so hard at a terrible television show that James had to turn up the volume.
When they became engaged, Elena insisted they keep their original wedding plans.
She wanted flowers.
Music.
Friends.
A proper celebration.
And dancing.
