“You’re sleeping apart. Locking your door. The noises.” I pushed my food around my plate, unable to meet his gaze. “It feels like you’re shutting me out because I’m a burden.”
David’s fork clattered onto the table. “A burden? Mara, how can you think that?” His eyes were wide, almost pained.
His jaw tightened. “I told you, I just want to sleep by myself. I’m restless at night. I toss and turn. I don’t want to hurt you accidentally.”
That excuse rang hollow. He’d always been a restless sleeper, but never once had it been an issue before. Why now?
I nodded anyway, swallowing down the lump in my throat. I couldn’t push him further, not when he was already shutting me out so completely.
The noises worsened that night, louder and more persistent than ever. I tried to ignore them, but the suspense gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
Ignoring the ache in my body, I pushed myself into my wheelchair and rolled down the hallway. My heart pounded with every creak of the wooden floorboards.
When I reached his door, I hesitated, the air thick with dread. This time, when I turned the handle, it clicked open.
“David?” I whispered as I pushed the door open.
The sight before me froze me in place.
He turned toward me, startled, before his expression softened into something sheepish. “You weren’t supposed to see this yet.”
My eyes darted around the chaos. “What… what is all of this?”
He stepped aside, revealing a half-built structure behind him. “It’s a lift system. For you. To help you get in and out of bed more easily.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I just stared at the contraption, then at him, then at the sketches pinned to the walls—detailed diagrams of furniture adapted for wheelchair access, measurements scribbled in his handwriting, little notes that read things like drawer height: perfect reach and smooth edges for safety.
“I’ve been working on this for our anniversary,” he continued, his voice gentler now. “I wanted to surprise you. I know how hard it’s been for you to move around the house, how much you hate having to ask for help all the time. I thought… maybe I could make things easier.”
Tears blurred my vision. All those nights I had imagined him hiding secrets, pulling away, maybe even betraying me—he had actually been pouring his time and energy into creating a home where I could live more freely.
He walked to the corner of the room and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box. Setting it carefully in my lap, he smiled nervously.
