He used to be a man who had it all together. A successful lawyer, known for his sharp mind and relentless drive. He could take on any case, crush any opponent, and walk away victorious. His life was something most people could only dream of—a beautiful wife, a promising career, and the thrill of speed every time he took his motorcycle out for a spin. That bike was more than just a machine to him; it was his freedom, his escape. Never did he imagine that one ride would change everything.

It happened on a rainy afternoon, the kind of day when the roads turn slick and dangerous. He was pushing the limits, as he always did, when a car came out of nowhere. There was no time to react. The impact was brutal. In an instant, everything was ripped away from him—his legs, his independence, his life as he knew it.

When he woke up in the hospital, the pain was unbearable, but it wasn't just physical. The doctors told him he'd never walk again, that he was lucky to be alive. Lucky? He didn't feel lucky. He felt broken. He couldn't even bring himself to look at his wife, who stayed by his side through it all, her eyes filled with tears she tried to hide. The man she married was gone, replaced by someone he could hardly recognize.

The clock ticks slowly, each minute a reminder of what he's lost. And then, he hears the door. She's home. Her footsteps are soft, almost hesitant, as if she's afraid of what she'll find when she walks in. He knows it's been a long day for her; they all are now. But there's a tightness in his chest, a knot of anger and resentment that he can't shake.

The door creaks open, and the light from the hallway spills into the room, cutting through the darkness. She steps inside, her silhouette framed by the dim glow. For a moment, he just watches her, his eyes tracing the outline of her figure.

“You're late,”he snaps, the words sharper than he intends. But he doesn't care. He needs her to feel a fraction of the pain that's eating him alive.