chapter 61
The soft hum of the wheelchair wheels was carried down the quiet hallway, as Dante pushed me slowly toward the estate's private rehabilitation wing.
The sound was steady, unhurried, as if he thought he could outpace the fear tightening in my chest by going slower.
However, it simply did not work that way.
I'd spent the better part of the twenty minutes ,before leaving the room, insisting I could transfer into the chair myself. I'd lost that argument somewhere between him arching a brow and simply picking me up.
"You're glaring at the back of my head," he said without turning around.
"I'm considering throwing something at it."
"You'd need working legs to chase me afterwards."
"I could still throw a pillow."
"I'd catch it."
"I hate how confident you always are Dante."
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the handles of the chair. "I've been told it's one of my better qualities."
"It's definitely one of your most annoying with an undertone of sexiness." I giggled at my bruised sides expense.
"I'll add that to the list."
Despite everything - the hospital gown under the blanket, the IV bruises on my arm, the ache that lived permanently in my spine - I smiled. It was small and fleeting, but it was real.
The smile disappeared as soon as we reached the rehabilitation centre.
The doors slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a room nothing like the medical wing.
Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling across polished wood floors and catching on the parallel bars that stretched the length of the room.
Therapy mats covered one side, and strange-looking machines sat neatly arranged beside them, their monitors dark and waiting.
People were moving. Walking. Stretching. Recovering.
A man with a prosthetic leg was taking careful steps between the bars. A woman laughed as her therapist corrected her posture.
The sight made something tighten painfully inside my chest.
I wasn't one of them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Dante must have felt the shift in me, because he crouched beside my wheelchair before pushing me any further. His hands rested on the armrests, caging me in gently, and his silver eyes held mine with a steadiness that made it hard to look away.
"You don't have to be brave," he said quietly.
I stared at him, my throat too tight to answer or look his way.
"You only have to try," he continued. "That's all I'm asking. We can do it together."
I managed a nod. "I can do trying."
"I know," he said, and squeezed my hand once before standing again.
As we rolled further inside, a woman in navy-blue scrubs approached with a warm, practiced smile. "Good morning, Luna."
"Morning," I murmured.
"I'm Dr. Elise. We've met briefly while you were recovering, but today we'll be starting your rehabilitation properly." She gestured to the broad-shouldered man beside her, who had kind brown eyes and a calm presence. "This is Noah. He'll be helping with your mobility training."
Mobility. The word alone made my stomach twist into knots.
Dr. Elise crouched in front of me so we were eye level. "Before we begin, how are your pain levels today?"
"Five," I said. It was a lie. It was closer to seven, but admitting that felt like giving the pain more power. It also meant feeling more weak and sad with my mobility situation.
"Any tingling?"
"Sometimes. In my right foot."
"Numbness?"
I looked down at the blanket covering my legs, at the shape of them that still felt like it belonged to someone else. "More often than I'd like."
She nodded gently, making notes on her tablet. "We'll take everything one step at a time. There's no timeline here except yours."
Dante remained beside me, one large hand resting lightly against my shoulder. The weight of it was grounding. "I'll be here," he said, so quietly it was only for me.
"I know."
Noah unlocked the wheelchair brakes with a soft click. "We're going to transfer you onto the therapy table to start. Is that alright?"
Heat flooded my face. I hated this part. Hated needing to be lifted, moved, handled like something fragile. "I've never hated needing help this much," I admitted before I could stop myself.
"You won't always need this much help," Noah said kindly.
I wished I believed him.
Together, Dante and Noah moved carefully. One supported my back, the other my legs. Even the smallest shift sent lightning through my ribs, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.
"Breathe," Dante murmured, his voice low in my ear.
"I'm trying."
Once I was lying flat, Dr. Elise began checking muscle responses, her hands professional and careful. "Can you lift your right foot?"
I focused, willing it to move. Nothing.
"Left?"
A tiny twitch. Barely a tremor, but it was there.
"There," Noah said, encouragement bright in his voice. "I saw it. We're getting something. That tremor means something Luna!"
We continued. Push. Pull. Resist. Relax. Tiny movements that most people never thought about twice. Sweat beaded across my forehead from effort alone, and my breath came in short, controlled bursts.
After nearly forty minutes, Noah positioned me between the parallel bars. The metal was cool under my palms as he helped me grip it. "We're going to see how much weight your legs can tolerate," he explained. "Just for a few seconds. You won't fall."
Panic hit immediately, sharp and fast. "I don't think-"
"You won't fall," Dante said, stepping directly behind me. His arms slipped around my waist, strong and solid and safe. "I've got you."
Together, they lifted me upright.
For one glorious second, I was standing.
My knees trembled violently. My legs felt foreign, weak, heavy, like they were made of wet sand. The room tilted, and pain shot from my hips down through both legs in a white-hot line.
"Breathe," Dante whispered near my ear, his chest solid against my back.
"I..."
My right knee buckled first. Then the left. Without Dante holding almost all my weight, I would have collapsed instantly.
"I'm sorry," the apology escaped before I could stop it, broken and small.
"No." Dante's voice was firm, absolute. "You never apologise for healing or for trying."
Tears stung unexpectedly, hot and fast. They lowered me gently back into the wheelchair, and Dr. Elise exchanged a glance with Noah. It was quick, a flicker of something she clearly hadn't intended for me to notice.
Unfortunately, I did.
"What?" My voice was sharper than I meant it to be. "What was that look?"
Silence.
"Ferial-" Dr. Elise started.
"No." My voice cracked. "Tell me."
No one spoke. The silence became louder than words, pressing against my ears until I couldn't stand it.
"Tell me," I demanded, my hands fisting in the blanket on my lap.
Dr. Elise slowly pulled a chair closer until she was sitting directly in front of me, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes too kind. "We've reviewed your scans several times," she began.
I swallowed, my mouth dry.
"The spinal swelling has reduced significantly. That's good."
"That's good," I echoed, desperate for her to keep saying it.
"It is. But..."
There it was. The word every patient feared. The word that meant the sentence was about to turn.
"But-," she continued gently, "the damage around your lower spinal cord was significant. We're seeing encouraging nerve activity, especially on your right side. But nerve recovery is unpredictable. It could continue improving slowly over months. It could plateau."
Hope stumbled.
"We simply don't know," she finished.
I stared at her, the words echoing in my head until they didn't make sense anymore. "So..."
She hesitated, and I saw the truth in that hesitation before she said it. "It is possible, Ferial, that you may not regain full mobility."
The room became impossibly quiet. I could hear birds outside the windows. Someone laughing in another corridor. The faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Every sound except my own breathing.
"...No," I whispered. The word barely existed. "No."
Dr. Elise reached for my hand.
I pulled it away. "No."
Tears blurred everything, turning the bright room into a watercolor of light and shapes.
"I climbed mountains in the district at restricted zones," I said, my voice shaking violently.
"I ran through forests that i thought only wolves owned.
I danced with my grandmother every harvest festival in the district at home. "
My chest tightened painfully, like my ribs were caving in. "I can't... I can't lose that. I cant lose what made me who i am."
Silence. No one argued. No one lied. No one promised everything would be okay, because they didn't know. And somehow, that hurt more than certainty ever could.
A sob escaped before I could stop it. Then another. My entire body shook, and I buried my face in my hands. "I don't want this. I don't want this."
Dante dropped to his knees beside the wheelchair without caring who watched. He wrapped both arms around me carefully, mindful of my ribs as I cried into his shoulder, his scent and warmth the only things that felt real.
"I know," he murmured, his voice rough. "I know, my moon."
"I finally found you," I choked out, the words breaking completely. "I finally found home. And now I might never... I might never walk in it."
I couldn't finish. His own breathing faltered, and for several long moments he simply held me while I fell apart. Then I felt his forehead rest gently against mine, his hands framing my face.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice dangerously close to breaking. "The doctors have given us possibilities. Not endings. They have not given us your future."
More tears spilled, hot against his skin.
"We fight possibilities," he continued, his thumb brushing my cheek with a tenderness that undid me. "We don't surrender to them. Not you. Not me."
"But what if they're right?" I asked, the question small and terrified.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they shone suspiciously bright, silver gone liquid with emotion he never let anyone else see.
"Then..." His voice nearly disappeared. "Then I become the strongest legs you'll ever have."
I stared at him, breath catching.
"I'll carry you through every forest," he said, his thumb wiping another tear away. "I'll dance with you every harvest, even if it's in this chair. I'll take you hiking even if I have to carry you on my back the whole way."
A broken laugh escaped me through the tears, because of course he would.
"I mean every word," he said, his forehead resting against mine again. "And if one day you stand on your own... I'll probably cry harder than you do."
That finally broke me. Not with despair, but with the overwhelming, terrifying realization that no matter what happened - whether I walked again or never took another step - he wasn't going anywhere.
Ever.
I clutched the front of his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. Maybe he was.
Outside, the sun shifted, and the forest beyond the windows kept breathing, alive and waiting.
And for the first time since the cave, since the water, since the forty-three seconds that had almost been my last, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, broken didn't mean alone. And strength wasn't always my own doing.
A/n: So ferial's name comes from one of my friends who is named that.
And when I did the whole story outline I just thought I loved her and loved the name.
Also Abdie is the name of a family friend .
So I was searching for a name.
And this Real life Abdie decided to race his truck and almost knocked us off the road in my car, cause he lost his train of thought and wanted to park??.
And in his wonderful fashion, bloody laughed and still greeted and asked if we were fine ( I was laughing even though i was in shock cause its just his way??).
So that's kinda how the names came about.
And we love our real life Abdie and it's his nickname Just a FYI.