Chapter 9 - The Question He Was Afraid to Ask
Six months later, Frankie opened a bar.
He named it The Broken Glass.
Sadi accused him of naming it after the first whiskey tumbler she refused to clean.
Frankie denied everything.
Desmond invested anyway.
The Gallagher estate was rebuilt, but differently.
Half the mansion became a nonprofit rehabilitation residence for people recovering from catastrophic injuries who could not afford private care.
Sadi ran it.
Desmond claimed she terrorized patients.
Sadi claimed that was clinical motivation.
Their arguments became legendary.
So did Desmond’s rehabilitation.
His progress remained slow.
Painful.
Uncertain.
But measurable.
He regained partial control of his left leg.
Then limited movement in the right.
With braces and parallel bars, he could support part of his weight.
He still used his wheelchair most of the day.
For once, that no longer seemed like defeat.
One Friday afternoon, Sadi entered the rehabilitation room.
It was empty except for Desmond.
He was standing between the parallel bars.
Alone.
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
“Where’s Reynolds?”
“Lunch.”
“Desmond!”
“Come here.”
She approached suspiciously.
He held the bars.
His legs trembled violently beneath the braces.
Sweat covered his forehead.
“What are you doing?”
“Something stupid.”
“That narrows nothing down.”
“Stand there.”
She did.
Ten feet away.
Desmond released one bar.
Sadi’s humor disappeared.
“Don’t.”
“I need to.”
“You don’t need to prove anything.”
“Not proving.”
He took one step.
Awkward.
Mechanical.
Painfully slow.
Sadi’s hand flew to her mouth.
Another.
His right leg nearly buckled.
He caught himself.
“Desmond.”
“Stay.”
Third step.
Fourth.
By the fifth, tears ran down Sadi’s face.
He stopped three feet from her.
His arms shook.
“I can’t make the rest.”
Sadi walked toward him.
“No.”
He smiled breathlessly.
“I wanted ten feet.”
“You made seven.”
“Eight.”
“Seven and a half.”
“You’re terrible at encouragement.”
She wrapped her arms around him carefully.
He leaned heavily against her.
Then she noticed something behind him.
Frankie.
Eleanor.
Dr. Reynolds.
Mrs. Bellini.
Every one of them was watching.
Sadi narrowed her eyes.
“You planned this?”
Desmond smiled.
Then Frankie brought the wheelchair.
Desmond lowered himself into it.
Sadi wiped her face.
“If this is some weird surprise party—”
Desmond reached into his jacket.
She stopped.
“Oh, no.”
He pulled out a small velvet box.
“Desmond.”
“I had a speech.”
“You did?”
“It was excellent.”
“What happened?”
“I forgot it around step four.”
Everyone laughed.
Desmond opened the box.
Inside was a simple diamond ring.
Sadi stared at it.
“When you walked into my study, I thought the worst thing that could happen to a man had already happened to me.”
His voice became quieter.
“I thought losing my legs meant losing my independence. My dignity. My future.”
Sadi’s eyes filled again.
“You were the first person who didn’t tell me I was still the same man.”
She frowned.
“That doesn’t sound romantic.”
“You told me I wasn’t.”
He smiled.
“You made me understand that surviving changes people. And that changed doesn’t mean less.”
Sadi began crying harder.
“You are ruining my mascara.”
“You’re not wearing mascara.”
“That is not relevant.”
Desmond took her hand.
“I don’t know how much more recovery I’ll get. Maybe I walk farther. Maybe I don’t.”
He looked at his wheelchair.
“For the first time, I don’t need that answer before I start living.”
Then he looked at her.
“I just need one answer.”
Sadi laughed through her tears.
“You haven’t actually asked yet.”
He blinked.
Frankie muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
Desmond glared at him.
Then returned his attention to Sadi.
“Sadie Harper, will you marry me?”
She stared.
“Did you just call me Sadie?”
Silence.
Desmond’s face changed.
Sadi burst out laughing.
“You’re proposing and you used the name from my employment paperwork?”
“You told me Sadi was short for Sadie.”
“It is.”
“Then what is happening?”
“I wanted to make you panic.”
“You’re evil.”
“I learned from you.”
He grabbed her around the waist.
“Answer the question.”
She kissed him.
Frankie sighed.
“That is not legally an answer.”
Sadi pulled away.
“Yes.”
Desmond stopped breathing.
“Yes?”
“Yes, you impossible bastard.”
Applause erupted.
Desmond slid the ring onto her finger.
That night they celebrated at Frankie’s bar.
For once, nobody talked about enemies.
Bombs.
Paralysis.
Crime.
They talked about flowers.
Music.
Food.
Sadi wanted a small wedding.
Desmond wanted whatever she wanted.
Then Eleanor suggested the rebuilt Gallagher estate.
Sadi looked at Desmond.
He looked at her.
Home.
“Yes,” they said together.
But three weeks before the wedding, Dr. Reynolds called.
She had received Desmond’s newest imaging.
There was a surgical option.
Experimental.
Risky.
It might improve function.
It might do nothing.
There was also a possibility it could erase some of the progress he had already made.
The surgery was scheduled for the same week as the wedding.
Sadi stared at Desmond across the kitchen.
“What do you want?”
He looked down at his legs.
Six months earlier, the answer would have been immediate.
Now it wasn’t.
He looked at the woman he loved.
May you like
Then at the ring on her finger.
And for the first time, walking was no longer the biggest decision in his future.
