After losing me, Adrian's world ground to a halt.
The man who had always made self-control his religion now curled up beside my old wheelchair night after night and cried.
Daniel pushed open the door to the rehabilitation room and set a stack of documents from back home on the table. "Adrian doesn't go to the office anymore."
I supported myself between the parallel bars, practicing shifting my weight onto my right residual limb. I didn't look up. I simply repeated the movement.
"He's locked himself inside the house you two shared," Daniel said as he pulled over a chair. "His assistant says he still makes breakfast for two every morning and pours a glass of warm milk and leaves it by the bed every night. He even thinks he can still hear the wheels of your wheelchair rolling across the f
