Chapter 1
Chapter 1 — Elena: Then
The last thing I remembered was the rain.
Not the impact. Not the glass. Just the rain, smearing the headlights into watercolor blurs, and the way my hand slipped from the steering wheel like I was reaching for something I'd already lost.
I woke up three days later.
My father was crying. I'd never seen him cry. Not at his mother's funeral, not when the stock market tanked, not when my mother walked out. But there he was, tears running down his face, clutching my hand like a rosary.
"Elena," he whispered. "You're going to be fine."
Liars always sound the most convincing when they're terrified.
I couldn't feel my legs. Couldn't feel anything from the ribs down. When I tried to move my toes, nothing happened. When I tried to scream, nothing came out.
The doctor used words like incomplete and prognosis and we'll see what the swelling does. But I saw the way the nurse looked at me. That soft, careful, poor little rich girl tilt of her head.
I wasn't a person anymore. I was a tragedy with a trust fund.
Two years later, nothing had changed except my wheelchair model.
So when this new physical therapy assistant showed up — some guy named Leo with oil-stained hands and eyes that looked like he'd already been broken — I decided to make him quit on his first day.
I didn't expect him to fight back.
