The Opposite of Falling Apart [Formerly Three and a Half Good Legs]

The poster on Jonas's closet door, once a diagram of human bones, now bore a harsh black mark where his left leg should be. He'd done it himself, the day he came home from the hospital, and it was the only time he'd cried. A year later, the mark remained, as permanent and unforgiving as his reality.

“Jonas, honey?” His mom’s voice, a familiar tiptoeing around glass shards, echoed from the phone. “Are you there?”

He sighed, the sound catching in his own ear. “Yes, mom. Here.”

“Look… I know you… haven’t really driven since…” She paused, then pressed on. “Your sister forgot her permission slip for her travel team. I really wouldn’t ask, but I have a big meeting…”

Jonas massaged the phantom ache above his missing knee. The guilt, a familiar companion, squeezed his insides. “Okay, mom,” he said, the words feeling as hollow as his hope.