The next morning, I find Grayson in the kitchen. He's making coffee. The machine hisses and drips. He's already dressed. Suit. Tie. He looks like he's going to a meeting.

"Can we talk?" I ask.

He glances at me. Nods. Pours his coffee. Doesn't offer me any.

I wheel closer to the table. My hands are in my lap. I practiced this last night. What to say. How to say it.

"I want to be more involved," I say. "With Jasper. I could do school drop-offs. Or pick-ups. Or help with dinner. Bedtime. Anything."

Grayson leans against the counter. Sips his coffee. His face is calm. Neutral.

"Keira," he says gently. "I understand. I do. But Jasper needs stability right now."

"I'm his mother."

"I know. And we'll get there. But sudden changes—" He pauses. Chooses his words carefully. "They could be hard on him. He's still adjusting to you being here."

"He won't adjust if I'm not around."

"You are around. You're here. That's a start." He sets his mug down. Crosses his arms. "We just need to take it slow. For his sake."

His voice is so reasonable. So measured. Like he's explaining a business strategy.

"What about bedtime?" I ask. "I could read to him. Just one night."

Grayson hesitates. "Lily has a routine with him. If we disrupt that—"

"I'm not asking to disrupt anything. I just want to see my son."

"You do see him. At dinner. In the mornings."

"He won't look at me."

Grayson sighs. Rubs the back of his neck. "This is hard on everyone, Keira. We're all doing our best."

I stare at him. He doesn't say Lily's name. He doesn't have to.

She handles all of that.

"Okay," I say quietly. "I understand."

He smiles. Just a little. Relief. "Good. I knew you would."

He picks up his mug. Checks his watch. "I've got to head out. I'll see you tonight."

He leaves.

I sit in the kitchen. Alone. The coffee machine drips. I don't move.

---

That night, I can't sleep again.

I lie in the guest room bed and listen to the house. Footsteps upstairs. Water running. A door closing.

Around eleven, I need water.

I get into the wheelchair. Move quietly down the hallway. Toward the kitchen.

Then I hear voices.

I stop.

They're in the living room. Grayson and Lily. Talking low. They think I'm asleep.

I wheel closer. Stay in the dark hallway. Just outside the doorway.

"How long are we talking?" Lily asks. Her voice is soft. Careful.

"Six months," Grayson says. "Maybe less. I just need to wait until she's more stable. It would look bad otherwise."

"Of course," Lily says. "I understand."

"Filing for divorce while she's still in a wheelchair—" He exhales. "People would talk. Marcus already made a comment at the office. I can't afford that kind of optics right now."

"You don't have to explain," Lily says. "I'm not going anywhere."

There's a pause. Then the sound of fabric shifting. Like someone moving closer.

"I just want you to know," Grayson says quietly. "This doesn't change anything. Between us."

"I know," Lily says. Her voice is warm. "There's no rush. We have time."

Another pause.

"Thank you," Grayson says. "For being patient. For understanding."

"Of course," she says again.

I hear the couch creak. Footsteps. They're moving toward the stairs.

I wheel backward. Fast. Back into the hallway. Into the guest room. Close the door.

I sit in the dark.

Six months.

He's waiting six months.

Not because he wants to stay married.

Because it would look bad.

I press my palms against my face. My chest is tight.

I'm not a wife.

I'm a scheduling problem.

---

Two days later, Grayson tells me he's hosting a dinner.

"Colleagues," he says. "Just a small thing. I want to keep up appearances. Show everything's normal."

I don't ask what normal means.

Lily cooks again. She moves through the kitchen like it's hers. Because it is.

Six people come. Marcus Hale and his wife. Two other couples I don't recognize.

They smile at me. Polite. Tight.

"So glad you're recovering," Marcus's wife says. Her voice is high. Fake.

"Thank you," I say.

We sit in the living room. Lily serves appetizers. Grayson pours wine. Everyone talks about work. About vacations. About nothing.

I sit in my wheelchair near the window. No one includes me in the conversation.

Then Lily asks if anyone wants tea.

"I'll help," I say.

Lily glances at Grayson. He nods.

She brings out the teapot. Sets it on the coffee table. I wheel closer.

"I can pour," I say.

Lily hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

She steps back.

I pick up the teapot. It's heavier than I expected. My hands are shaking. Just a little.

I pour the first cup. It's fine.

I reach for the second cup. Tilt the pot.

My grip slips.

The pot tips. Hot tea spills across the table. Across Marcus's wife's hand.

She screams. Pulls her hand back. Her skin is red. Blistering.

Lily is already moving. She grabs a towel. Wraps it around the woman's hand.

"Ice," she says. Grayson runs to the kitchen.

Marcus stands. He's staring at me. His face is hard.

"This is unacceptable," he says. "This whole situation—"

"It was an accident," Grayson says quickly. He's back with ice. Hands it to Lily.

Marcus shakes his head. "You need to get this under control, Grayson. It's not fair to anyone. Especially not to her." He nods toward his wife.

Grayson laughs. It sounds forced. Nervous. "I know. I know. We're working on it. It's just a transition period. You understand."

Marcus doesn't answer.

The other guests stand. Make excuses. Leave early.

Lily walks them to the door. Apologizes. Her voice is smooth. Gracious.

Grayson stays in the living room. Cleaning up.

I wheel toward the hallway. Toward the guest room.

Then I hear Marcus's voice. Low. From the foyer.

"You need to handle this, Grayson. It's complicated, I get it. But you can't let it affect everything."

"I know," Grayson says quietly. "She's recovering. It's a transition period. I just need a little more time."

He doesn't say my name.

I wheel into the guest room. Close the door.

Sit in the dark.

I'm not a person.

I'm a condition.

A complication.

Something to be managed.

Sunday morning. Grayson tells me his mother is coming for lunch.

"Just a casual thing," he says. "She's been wanting to see you."

I don't believe him. But I nod.

Sandra Payne arrives at noon. She's wearing a cream sweater and pearls. Her hair is perfect. She always looks like she's going somewhere important.

She walks into the living room. Sees me in the wheelchair by the window.

"Keira," she says. She comes over. Hugs me briefly. Her perfume is strong. Floral. "So glad you're feeling better."

She pulls back before I can say anything.

Then she turns. Walks straight to the kitchen. To Lily.

"Lily, darling," she says warmly. "Do you need help with anything?"

Lily smiles. "I'm almost done. But if you could set the table?"

"Of course."

They move through the kitchen together. Sandra knows where the plates are. The napkins. The serving bowls.

She's been here before. Many times.

I wheel myself to the doorway. Watch them.

"How's Jasper doing with soccer?" Sandra asks. "Grayson said he scored a goal last week."

"Two goals," Lily says. She's smiling. Proud. "He's getting really good."

"I can't wait for the tournament next month. I already marked it on my calendar."

"He'll be so excited you're coming."

Sandra sets the last fork down. Turns. Sees me in the doorway.

"Keira," she says. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?"

Her voice is polite. Careful. Like I'm a guest.

"I'm fine," I say.

She nods. Turns back to Lily. "Should we eat in the dining room or outside? The weather's nice."

"Outside, I think," Lily says.

They carry the food out. I follow.

We eat on the back patio. Sandra sits beside Lily. Across from Grayson. I'm at the end of the table.

Jasper sits between Grayson and Lily. He's wearing his soccer jersey. He keeps kicking his feet under the table.

"Grandma, watch this," he says. He makes a kicking motion with his leg.

Sandra laughs. "Very impressive, sweetheart."

She doesn't look at me once during lunch.

After we eat, Sandra and Lily clear the table together. I offer to help.

"No, no," Sandra says quickly. "You rest. We've got it."

I sit on the patio. Alone. Watch them through the glass door. Laughing. Talking.

Sandra leaves an hour later. She hugs Lily at the door. Long. Warm.

Then she turns to me. Pats my shoulder. Once.

"Take care of yourself, Keira," she says.

She doesn't say she'll visit again.

She doesn't have to.

---

That afternoon, I need something to do.

I wheel into the guest room. Open the closet. Look for my old photo albums. The ones I kept before the accident.

The closet is mostly empty. A few of Grayson's old jackets. Some boxes on the floor.

I look up.

There. On the highest shelf. Stacked boxes. Taped shut.

I recognize my handwriting on one of them. *Keira — Photos.*

I stare at the shelf. It's too high. I can't reach it from the wheelchair.

I try anyway. Stretch my arm up. My fingers brush the edge of the bottom box. But I can't get a grip.

I sit back. Stare at the boxes.

My things are still here. Technically.

They're just out of reach.

I wheel out of the room. Find Grayson in his office. He's on his laptop. Typing.

"Can you help me with something?" I ask.

He looks up. "Sure. What do you need?"

"There are boxes on the top shelf in the guest room closet. I want to look through them."

He nods. "Okay. I'll get them down this weekend."

"Can you do it now?"

He glances at his screen. "I'm in the middle of something. It'll just take a minute."

"Please," I say. "It won't take long."

He sighs. Rubs his eyes. "This weekend, Keira. I promise."

I don't argue. I wheel back to the guest room.

Stare at the shelf again.

This weekend.

He won't.

---

That night, I can't sleep again.

I lie in bed. Stare at the ceiling. Think about Sandra. About the way she hugged Lily. About the boxes I can't reach.

Around midnight, I pick up my phone.

Call Davina.

She answers on the third ring. Her voice is groggy but alert.

"Keira? You okay?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know it's late."

"It's fine. What's going on?"

I don't know where to start. So I just talk.

I tell her about the irises. About Jasper at the school. About the overheard conversation. About Sandra. About the boxes.

Davina listens. Doesn't interrupt.

When I finish, there's a long silence.

Then she says, quietly: "You already know what this is, Keira. You just haven't let yourself say it out loud yet."

I close my eyes. My throat is tight.

"I know," I whisper.

"So what are you going to do?"

I don't answer.

Because I don't know.

Not yet.