Chapter 3 - The First Step
The next three days were a trial of pure, agonizing physical pain.
Dr. Ross, a brilliant physical therapist who had treated Olympic athletes, arrived at the Lake Forest estate every morning at seven. He set up parallel bars, nerve-stimulation units, and heavy resistance equipment in the library.
"The hematoma is shrinking, Genevieve," Dr. Ross explained as he attached electrodes to my thighs. "The neural pathways are still intact, but your brain has forgotten how to send signals down your spinal cord. It's like trying to make a phone call through a frayed wire. It will hurt."
"I don't care about pain," I said, sweating through my gray athletic clothes. "Make me stand."
The first day brought nothing but excruciating muscle spasms and deep, soul-crushing exhaustion. I couldn't move my left foot a single millimeter. I cried in the quiet hours of the night while holding Hazel in my nursing chair, questioning if my body had truly failed me.
But every time despair crept in, I remembered the cold, arrogant sneer on Eleanor’s face: “Who will believe a paralyzed woman?”
I remembered Julian holding the pen, trying to force my hand to sign away my father's legacy.
On Wednesday afternoon—fifteen hours before the emergency custody hearing—I grabbed the parallel bars in the library.
Dr. Ross stood behind me, holding a spotter's belt around my waist. Sarah sat at the desk, watching with held breath.
"Focus, Genevieve," Dr. Ross instructed softly. "Don't think about the whole leg. Just send the signal to your right big toe."
I closed my eyes. I pictured the neural pathways in my spine, clearing away the blood, the fear, and the weakness. I squeezed my eyes shut and poured every ounce of my willpower into my right foot.
Twitch.
Sarah gasped.
I opened my eyes. My right big toe had curled.
"Again," I gritted through clenched teeth.
I squeezed my core, locked my arms onto the steel bars, and pushed upward with everything I had. My legs shook violently, like dry leaves in a gale-force wind. Pain shot up my lower back like liquid fire.
Slowly, agonizingly... my knees locked.
I stood.
For three glorious, agonizing seconds, I stood on my own two feet without the wheelchair, breathing heavily, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Dr. Ross caught me as my knees buckled, gently lowering me back into the cushioned chair. He was grinning from ear to ear.
"The pathways are opening," Dr. Ross declared, wiping his brow. "You won't be running marathons by tomorrow, Genevieve, but you aren't permanently paralyzed. Not even close."
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, looking at Sarah.
"Are the cameras ready for court tomorrow?" I asked.
May you like
Sarah smiled, pulling out a tablet. "The judge granted our request for a video-link appearance due to your medical recovery. But Julian and his mother don't know that. They think you'll be attending via a recorded affidavit."
"Good," I said, a dangerous warmth spreading through my chest. "Let them think I'm helpless until the trap snaps shut."
