Chapter 37
Collins
If I stayed one more second, I would’ve kissed her—and I had no right to do that to her.
I saw the confusion in her eyes when I left so suddenly, the way her brows drew together like she didn’t understand what had just happened. But I couldn’t stay. My chest felt too tight. My thoughts were too loud.
She loves me.
And now I don’t know what to do with that.
The moment I got home, I didn’t even take off my jacket. I started making calls.
The place was already beautiful, but beautiful isn’t enough when someone you care about needs it to be safe.
I told them to remove the bathtub and replace it with something bigger, maybe even a jacuzzi.
She deserved comfort, not struggle. The stairs worried me.
Someone suggested a mechanical chair that could move her wheelchair up and down, but the thought of it failing, of it slipping—made my stomach twist. No.
I told them to install a proper home lift. Safer. Stronger. Reliable.
I could’ve chosen a single-storey house. It would’ve been easier. Smarter.
But I wanted her to see the sea.
I wanted her to sit on the balcony and feel the breeze on her face, to watch sunsets. I wanted her to have beauty, not just accessibility.
I ordered most of the furniture to be removed, wide spaces, clean paths, nothing to block her movement.
I already had a housekeeper, but I called an agency for a part-time nurse.
Someone who could help her when I was at work.
As for meals, my housekeeper handled the everyday cooking, but I also hired a part-time chef for special occasions, so she could have meals made exactly when she wanted, without waiting or compromising.
I even thought about a stylist. Someone who could come to the house, help her dress up on days she wanted to feel pretty, powerful, seen.
Anything she wanted. Anything she needed.
I told them to remove the front step entirely, to level everything so she could roll in without stopping, without help.
Seats in the bathroom. Rails near the shower. Space everywhere.
I made so many changes it felt like I was rebuilding my life around a version of the future I was afraid to admit out loud.
Because that’s what you do when you’re in love.
You don’t ask if it’s easy.
You ask how to make it possible.
The first bedroom was set up with a king-size bed, everything arranged for her comfort and convenience.
Soft linens, extra pillows, a small reading lamp within easy reach, every detail mattered.
The second bedroom, well… that would be for me for now, nothing fancy, just enough space to crash without getting in her way.
The third bedroom downstairs, I had converted into a full gym for her physiotherapy.
Treadmill, parallel bars, resistance bands, a mat area, everything she might need to rebuild strength and mobility.
I even installed extra lighting and non-slip flooring.
The swimming pool was for her use only when I was home; I couldn’t risk her being alone in the water, no matter how careful she was.
I’d made other adjustments too, wide, clear paths, railings where necessary, seating at strategic points. Every corner was thought through, every inch designed to make her feel independent while still being safe.
I don’t know if she’ll ever step through this door. But if she does, I want her to know she’ll never have to shrink herself to fit into my world.
The renovation had taken about three weeks. Three long, painstaking weeks. And that made me realize something painfully clear: it had also been three weeks since I last saw her.
I swallowed hard at the thought. I missed her. I wondered if she was eating properly, if she was pushing herself in physiotherapy, but not overdoing it. I hoped she was okay.
Before leaving for my practice, I had the renovators finish the last bits and pieces, giving them full access while I was away. Nothing could be left half-done, not when this was for her. Not when every detail mattered.
Marlon arrived at the practice early, eager for his first day as my partner. I found him already at the office, reviewing patient files and setting up his desk. The intern was also there, organizing charts and preparing for the morning appointments.
We’d become busy over the past few weeks.
Referrals from the hospital were pouring in, more than I could manage alone.
Some of my old patients came to see me at the practice, familiar smiles greeting me.
My focus was on ensuring the practice ran smoothly—and, somewhere in the back of my mind, checking that the home I had prepared for Anna was just as safe and ready as I had left it.
“Let’s grab a coffee,” I said, motioning toward the staff area.
“I’ll have tea,” Marlon replied, following me.
We settled into the small lounge. I poured myself a cup, the steam curling into the air, and took a slow sip.
“So…” Marlon began, leaning back slightly, eyes curious. “When was the last time you saw her?”
I set my cup down, my mind drifting for the briefest second before I answered. “Three weeks ago. But I’m planning to go visit her tomorrow.”
Marlon raised his eyebrows. “Three weeks? That’s… a long time.” There was a hint of something unspoken in his tone—interest? Concern? Perhaps both.
“I know,” I said, watching him carefully. “But after tomorrow, there won’t be any gaps.” I let the words hang for a moment, the weight of them more for myself than for him.
He nodded, leaning forward slightly. “I get it. You care a lot about her, don’t you?”
I allowed a small, private smile. “More than I should probably admit.” I checked my watch, the sharp reminder of responsibilities pulling me back. “I need to get ready for my patients. Big day ahead.”
Marlon raised his cup to me, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Don’t worry, Collins. I’ll try not to let you forget what’s important… outside these walls.”
I let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing slightly, before standing. “I’ll hold you to that.”