Chapter Colin Adams
COLIN ADAMS
No one really knows the pain I’m in.
Everyone in this house thinks I’m just “throwing a tantrum,” but they have no idea what’s actually going on inside my head.
Not being able to control my own body drives me crazy. Having limited command over my movements makes me feel useless—insignificant compared to everyone else.
People keep saying things like, “Why doesn’t he just start physical therapy?” or “How hard can it be to try walking again with all that help?” or “He’ll get there if he just tries!”
I’m sick of it.
I did try. In my own way—but I swear, I did.
Even though I refused to do the exercises that first day, I paid attention to every single thing the therapist said. Later, when no one was watching, I snuck a few dumbbells and some other equipment into my room.
I didn’t want to fail in front of anyone.
But I couldn’t do it. Not a single exercise he’d shown me.
I felt weak—like garbage. And you know what’s ironic?
If I could go back in time, I’d do it all over again.
I know that sounds twisted—complaining this much about my situation—but I’d never give up Isabelle or the kids. Not for anything.
Then my phone started buzzing, and I saw those things again.
Oh, right. That.
Messages of “support.”
Out of nowhere, people started calling me, sending messages full of sympathy and other nonsense. And I call it nonsense because most of those so-called “friends” haven’t said a single word to me in years—not even when I needed them most, after I lost my daughter.
And yeah… in the end, it’s my fault. Of course it is.
I’m the one who shut everyone out. I own that.
What I can’t stand is those same people showing up now, pretending to care, when they couldn’t be bothered back then.
I can count on one hand the people who truly cared about me—and I used to have a lot of friends.
I honestly don’t know how to deal with everything surrounding me anymore. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.
All I want is a little light—something to help me understand whether I still have a purpose on this earth… if people even have one at all.
Now I’ve got two bodyguards. Mini bodyguards.
Isabelle put Joshua and Hanna in charge of keeping me company—and it immediately reminded me of our last conversation, when she’d said I’d have company during my physical therapy sessions.
Well… she wasn’t kidding.
If her goal was to piss me off, she nailed it—because for the first time, I decided to do the exercises the therapist prescribed right in front of everyone, instead of hiding away. But this time, I just embarrassed myself. I couldn’t even finish the damn routine.
I’m useless. My legs won’t listen to me. I can barely move the toes on my left foot, and trying to walk the circuit in front of me feels impossible. Not even using my arms for support helps—I’ve lost strength in them too.
I’m screwed. My body’s screwed. And my mind? Don’t even get me started.
I shouldn’t have yelled at the therapist in front of the kids, shouting that nothing was working. He was just doing his job. But that’s who I am now—anger has become a part of me.
I didn’t need to see much to know how terrified the kids were.
They bolted out of the room. I caught a glimpse of Hanna’s face—and for the first time, she looked afraid of me.
That gutted me. Joshua looked at me like I was a stranger, and he wasn’t wrong.
Before everything fell apart, I was a different man.
Everyone’s trying to help me, and here I am—too weak to handle even the first real challenge.
God, I wish I could just be normal again.