Chapter 54
Anna
The court was adjourned, and I stayed in my wheelchair, letting the noise of the room fade behind me.
Ian was moving toward the exit, calm and collected as ever, papers tucked neatly under his arm.
I could see the way he interacted with Morgan Simmons—polite, professional, nothing more—but for some reason, a strange tension settled in my chest.
Jealous of his lawyer.
She walked beside him, confident, competent.
She smiled lightly when he said something—just a small, professional gesture.
And still…I felt it. That sharp twist of irritation and unease.
My mind betrayed me, imagining things that weren’t there.
He didn’t look at her the way he looked at me.
He never would. Yet every casual glance, every nod of acknowledgment, made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was competing with someone who didn’t even exist outside my head.
I forced myself to exhale and roll forward. Ian had never given me a reason to doubt him. Morgan was just part of the process—a professional, nothing more.
Still…it was hard not to notice. Hard not to let my imagination run wild while I watched him trust her, rely on her advice, respect her judgment. None of it was real in the way I feared, and yet my heart wouldn’t let me let go of the jealousy, no matter how irrational it was.
I rolled forward, trying to focus on the day, on the physio I had scheduled for the afternoon, on anything but the tiny storm inside me. But deep down, I knew I’d be replaying those few minutes over and over in my head, wondering why a simple professional interaction could feel like a threat.
Ridiculous, I scolded myself silently. My body was tethered to this wheelchair, my mind spinning, and yet the heart had its own stubborn reasoning.
I caught Ian glancing briefly in my direction.
His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a subtle crease of concern or calculation—I wasn’t sure which.
My chest tightened. That look, the faint crease, the quiet weight of his presence…
it made me wish I could stand, could close the distance, could speak without caution.
My father nudged my chair gently. “Come on, Anna,” he said softly. I allowed him to guide me toward the door, letting the conversation and the aftermath swirl around me like background noise.
The courtroom faded behind us, but the knot in my chest didn’t.
I arrived home to a quiet house. Nancy wasn’t back yet, but the physio’s car was already parked outside, engine off, waiting. Somehow, that small sign of routine steadied me more than I expected.
“Hi, Anna, how are you?” she said warmly as I rolled up the driveway.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I replied, forcing a smile as the front door opened and my chair carried me inside.
“Good afternoon,” my father added politely.
“Mr. Mathews,” she greeted with a nod.
As soon as we were inside, my dad helped me change into my gym clothes—movements we’d both learned to do efficiently, without awkwardness or pity. Still, I hated how much help I needed. Once I was ready, I wheeled myself back into the lounge where my physio was setting up.
This was my workout space now. Not like Ian’s place, where a spare room had been quietly transformed into a proper gym with enough room to move, to fall, to try again. This was smaller, more cramped—but it would do. It had to.
“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands softly. “Let’s get started. Did you try standing again while I wasn’t here?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “A little. I’m still weak.”
“That’s expected,” she said. “Come on. Let’s try.”
She knelt in front of me first, carefully moving my legs, checking for response, watching my face more than my muscles. Then she stood and positioned herself close.
“Hold on to me.”
I did. My hands trembled as I pushed myself up, every muscle protesting. My legs shook immediately.
“That’s good,” she encouraged. “Don’t sit back. Stay with it.”
The seconds dragged. My breath came shallow, my arms burning as much as my legs.
“One minute and twenty seconds,” she said, glancing at her watch. “That’s good progress.”
Relief washed over me, quickly followed by frustration.
“Let’s try again,” she added. “This time, see if you can take a step.”
I tried. I really did. My body listened for a split second—then gave up. I stumbled, and she caught me before I could fall.
“Hey,” she said quickly. “Don’t stress. That’s still progress. Real progress.”
I swallowed hard, nodding.
“Try this every day,” she continued. “Let your sister or your dad help you. Even standing for a few seconds matters. Every bit counts.”
“I will,” I said quietly.
We finished with stretches, my body aching in that dull, familiar way that meant effort—not failure. When she finally left, the house felt too quiet again.
But beneath the exhaustion, there was something else.
Hope. Small. Fragile. But still there.
Dad was moving around in the kitchen. The smell of dinner settling in the air should’ve been comforting. Instead, my thoughts were still tangled in courtrooms and glances I couldn’t unsee.
The front door opened, and moments later Nancy appeared. The second she saw me, her expression softened. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me, careful but firm, like she always was—as if she could hold me together through touch alone.
She pulled back and signed, How was court today?
“It went well,” I said. Then, before I could stop myself, the words spilled out. “But Ian’s lawyer… I actually got jealous.”
Nancy’s brows lifted slightly, more amused than concerned. Why would you be jealous? she signed.
I hesitated, “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe I’m scared he’d be interested. It would be easier for him.” My throat tightened. “I’m too much work.”
Her smile faded, replaced by something gentler—steadier. She reached for my hands, grounding me before I could spiral any further.
Don’t think like that. she signed firmly. He loves you. Can’t you see how broken he is now that you’re apart?
The image hit me harder than I expected—Ian’s restraint, his silence, the way he looked at me in court like he was holding himself together by force alone.
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I’m just…insecure.”
Nancy squeezed my hands once, firm and reassuring. “Relax, she signed. He’s not going anywhere.”
Something in my chest finally eased, the tight knot loosening just enough for me to breathe properly again.
Come, let’s go eat, she signed, already moving behind my chair.
Zelda usually came by after dinner. It had become part of my routine—something I waited for without admitting how much I needed it. Tonight, though, she was running late. Too late.
I found myself watching the clock more than once, listening for sounds that weren’t there. Maybe she wasn’t coming. The thought left an unexpected hollow in my chest.
It was silly, really. But this—Zelda, these visits—was the only way I still felt Ian’s presence. Filtered. Indirect. Safe. Knowing he thought of me at the end of the day, after I’d sent my quiet, ordinary message. It made the nights easier.
Just as I was about to give up on the idea altogether, someone knocked.
Relief loosened my shoulders.
“Finally,” I murmured under my breath.
Zelda stepped inside with a warm smile. “Hi, Anna. Sorry—I’m late.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly, meaning more than just the delay.
She lifted a small gift bag in her hand. “This is from Dr. Collins.”
My heart skipped—once, sharp and immediate.
“For me?” I asked, already reaching.
She nodded, watching me closely.
I opened the bag slowly. Inside was a burgundy headband—simple, elegant, unmistakably chosen with care. The kind of thing he’d notice. The kind of thing he’d want me to wear.
Tucked beneath it was a small folded note.
For strength. For focus. For me.
My throat tightened, emotion rising fast and sudden.
“There’s another envelope,” Zelda said.
I found it—sealed.
“He said not to open it,” she added. “Not until we win the court case. Until then… it stays sealed.”
I didn’t say anything. I just held it there for a moment, letting the meaning settle into me—his way of being close without crossing a line. To remind me that even now, especially now, I wasn’t facing this alone.
I smiled softly, pressing the note and the envelope to my chest.
Tonight, I would sleep easier.