Chapter 6 - LEARNING TO WALK AGAIN
My criminal case moved faster than my body.
I hated that.
People discussed intent, transfers, metadata, and probable cause while I celebrated standing for twenty seconds between parallel bars.
My pelvis healed without surgery.
My wrist required fixation.
My ribs healed slowly.
The concussion caused headaches and concentration problems for weeks.
Physical therapy was humiliating at first.
Then boring.
Then empowering.
Real recovery was repetitive.
Lift.
Hold.
Lower.
Again.
I also started trauma therapy.
I had nightmares about the balcony.
Sometimes Brandon pushed me.
Sometimes nobody did and I stepped backward forever.
I blamed myself for confronting him alone.
My therapist distinguished regret from responsibility.
Confronting a suspected financial betrayal privately had been risky in hindsight.
Pushing me was Brandon’s decision.
Both statements could exist without collapsing into each other.
That became important.
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I did not want recovery built from slogans.
I wanted accuracy.
