We eventually found out he’d been quietly helping with bills.
When I confronted him, he said, “I can’t undo what I did.
I can help pay for what comes after.”
Almost a year after the crash, Hannah walked out of the hospital.
Slow, with a cane. But walking.
I held one arm.
On the other side, she hesitated, then held Mike’s.
Outside the doors, she turned to him.
“You ruined my life,” she said.
He flinched. “I know.”
“And you helped keep me from giving up on it,” she said.
“Both can be true.”
He started crying again.
“I don’t deserve that,” he said.
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