Julia had stopped thinking of her life in years and started thinking of it in tasks. Wake up. Get Marcus his meds. Transfer him to his shower chair. Breakfast that wouldn’t spike his pain. Wheel locks. Laundry. Insurance forms. A quick wipe of the counters because dust always seemed to settle like it had a grudge. Then her own job, squeezed in around his appointments like an afterthought.
She used to be Marcus’s wife. Now she was Marcus’s system. The accident had happened three winters ago—black ice, a crushed guardrail, the phone call that turned her bones to water. In the hospital, she’d held his hand and promised everything in the same breath: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. She meant it. She still meant it.