Chapter Forty-Four
Atlas
April
After twelve full days since the accident, we can finally bring Wendy home.
The last six days in the hospital were spent managing her pain, giving her some time to heal, and listening to the doctors explain her recovery.
I had to demonstrate the ability to get her safely out of the bed and into her wheelchair, which was easy because I've spent my entire life picking Wendy up and carrying her in my arms.
I think about the mile I had to carry her as we walked back to the high school after she twisted her ankle—piece of cake then, piece of cake now.
I was given a huge packet of information for her healing—her med schedule and her follow-up appointments, including with the orthopedic doctor and physical therapy. The latter showed me how to brace her hips and safely maneuver her without causing her any harm.
But every single time my wife flinched from pain, sweating and pale, and gasping for breath, it felt like a thousand knives slicing me open. I hate that she's in pain, but that means she's alive.
She's still smiling at our boys, at me, at our family. She's still here, and I feel like the luckiest bastard in the world.
They showed me how to put on Wendy's pelvic binder, and Taylor thankfully brought some loose, comfortable clothes from home for Wendy to wear. I loaded her in my truck, put the wheelchair in the back, and we were on the way home.
Wendy seems a little tense in the car, hands clenched into fists on her lap and eyes shifting back and forth, especially when we reach an intersection.
"Are you okay, baby? Are you in any pain?"
Wendy shakes her head, "No, the meds are working great, it's just... I feel a little weird in a car..."
It hits me then. The last time she was in a car, a careless driver t-boned her. She probably has a little bit of post-traumatic stress running through her body.
I ease to a stop at a red light, and turn to her, taking one of her hands and gently unclenching it. Her nails had pressed tiny little crescent moons into the skin of her palm.
"It's okay," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her hand.
She smiles, nodding.
"I know, I trust you," she whispers.
The words hit me hard. Her trust was something I had lost, something I had to work to get back, because without trust, what was left for her? I had been decidedly untrustworthy with my actions that year, but these last six months, I've earned some of it back, second by second.
Just as I felt when I found the papers nullifying our separation, I feel so much hope welling up in my chest.
It's not all for nothing. I fucked it up by my silence, my fear, my inability to confront my mental health, but I fucking earned it back by doing the hardest and most rewarding work I've ever had to do.
The most important work I'll ever do.
Taking care of my mental health so that I can be the husband and father my wife and kids deserve.
I press another kiss to her hand as the light turns green, and keep it in mine as I ease my foot off the brake and carefully guide us home.
...
Wendy smiles as I wheel her through the front door, assisted by the wheelchair ramp Trace had installed.
The boys, my parents, and Silas stand in the entryway. Noah had painted a banner—Welcome Home, Mama!—and hung it from the walls above our family photos. It's painted all warm orange, red, and yellows, the colors we always associate with Wendy.
"Welcome home!" Noah runs up to Wendy, but then stops himself, before gently wrapping his arms around her.
I smile at my careful boy and at Wendy's smile as she presses a kiss to his little ginger head. Liam comes up behind him and wraps his arms around them both, Wendy turning her head to kiss him.
"Welcome home, Mama," Liam murmurs.
"I'm so happy to be home," Wendy sniffs, glancing back over her shoulder at me with a happy smile. I lean down and kiss her head, and my parents follow suit with their own greetings. Silas presses a kiss to her head.
"Look at you, Wen," Silas grins happily.
Silas had come to help Trace set up the house as instructed by the doctors. We have an extra room downstairs that's kind of always been a catch-all room since we only needed three bedrooms in this four-bedroom house.
As I wheel Wendy inside, we're floored. Silas and Trace completely transformed it into a comfortable bedroom for us.
Trace and Silas cleared out the room and carried down our big bed for us, even putting on fresh sheets and our cream comforter, which Wendy loves because it's so soft.
They also carried our heavy dresser full of our clothes and set up the commode for Wendy, who pointedly ignores it for now, her cheeks flushing.
The room doesn't look like a bare hospital room, which I am very thankful for. I want Wendy to feel happy, safe, and comfortable in it, because she'll be here for a bit while she heals.
Thankfully, Noah also placed his touch on it, hanging some bright pictures he drew all around the room to make his Mama happy.
I wheel Wendy further into the room and stop the wheelchair by her bed. My mom's already moving, pulling the covers back so that I can lift Wendy up out of her wheelchair.
She hisses slightly, and I press a kiss to her head, "Sorry, baby."
"It's okay," she smiles through her wince as I gently place her back down on the bed. Once she's settled into a comfortable position, she sighs in relief. "Thank you."
"Are you hungry?" I ask, and she nods her head.
"Mabel delivered some casseroles to the freezer. I'll go start the oven. Boys, come help," Mom says, nodding at my dad, brother, and sons to come with her and give us some privacy.
I'm thankful for this, because despite being family, I sense that my wife doesn't want people hovering around her.
Noah runs out holding his grandmom's hand, followed by my dad and brother. Liam glances back once more with a small smile before shutting the door with a soft click.
Once they're gone, Wendy exhales a bit in relief, but her face looks stressed still. Her eyes flick back and forth around the room, and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.
"What's wrong?"
She shakes her head, "I don't know, I just... feel kind of weird to not be able to do anything. Or to have anything to do. It feels almost wrong," she huffs a laugh, and I gently ease myself on the bed next to her, near her good hip.
"All you need to do is focus on healing," I tell her, gently brushing a ginger curl from her face. "I'm going to handle everything else. Dad already has work covered for the next two months, I'm all yours."
"I know..." she says, but her face is still pinched.
"Hey," I say, gently cupping her cheek. My eyes trail over the faded bruise on her temple, the small cut that's healing above her eyebrow, and I smile. Healing. The physical sight of her healing makes me hopeful and happy.
"You've taken care of all of us for so long by yourself—I know you had help," I say, gently cutting her off as she opens her mouth to no doubt protest, "But still, Wendy. You managed our household on your own. Now it's my turn, and after this, you won't be doing things on your own ever again."
"The accident really messed up my plans," she huffs, shaking her head. "I had this whole idea in my head to get the papers and to give them to you after dinner, and to go upstairs and pack your things and bring you home."
"While I would prefer you not have been hit by some careless shithead," I growl, before continuing. "I'm glad the outcome is still the same. You're a little sneak for that."
"I just wanted it to be special."
I snort, "Baby, you could have snarled at me to get my ass back home now, and I would have run home barefoot with a smile on my face."
Wendy giggles, snuggling into my hand on her face, pressing a kiss to the palm.
"I love you, Atlas. I'm so grateful you found your way home."
"I'll always find my way home, baby," I lean forward pressing a long, sweet kiss to her lips. "My home is where you are."