Chapter 5 - The First Step
“You knew?”
Camila went pale.
Massimo closed the study doors.
“Tessa—”
“How long?”
“It's complicated.”
“That's lawyer language for yes.”
Camila sat down.
Six months earlier, the Pascale family had quietly begun identifying neurological specialists.
Massimo hadn't been injured yet.
He had been preparing to leave the organization and knew doing so could make him vulnerable.
“Why physical therapists?”
Massimo answered.
“My mother had a degenerative neurological condition.”
Camila nodded.
“Massimo wanted someone available for her.”
His mother died before arrangements were completed.
My name remained in Camila's files.
After the crash, she remembered me.
“So I wasn't targeted?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because you already looked terrified when I told you who Massimo was.”
Fair.
I was still angry.
But not betrayed in the way I'd feared.
The investigation continued.
So did rehabilitation.
Six weeks after I arrived, Massimo's left quadriceps finally produced sustained contraction.
I nearly screamed.
He pretended not to care.
“Again,” I said.
He tried.
The muscle tightened.
“There.”
“I felt it.”
“Again.”
“Tessa.”
“Again.”
He did it four more times.
Two days later, we moved to supported standing.
Victor watched from the doorway.
Massimo gripped the parallel bars.
I positioned his knees and pelvis.
“Don't pull with your arms.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Shift forward.”
His body rose.
Six inches.
Then twelve.
His legs trembled violently.
“Good.”
“Don't lie.”
“I'm not.”
His knees began collapsing.
I stabilized him.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Massimo.”
“Ten seconds.”
“You're at your limit.”
“Ten.”
I looked into his eyes.
“Five.”
He nodded.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
He collapsed into the wheelchair.
Sweat covered his face.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then he laughed.
Not the brief surprised laugh from our first meeting.
A real one.
I found myself laughing too.
Three weeks later came the first step.
It was ugly.
Unsteady.
Supported by parallel bars and nearly all his weight through his arms.
But his right foot moved forward.
Four inches.
Massimo froze.
I froze.
Victor turned away, pretending to examine something on the wall.
Massimo looked down.
“Did I—”
“Yes.”
His eyes closed.
For the first time since I'd met him, tears appeared.
He wiped them away angrily.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to tell you your gait mechanics were terrible.”
He laughed through the tears.
“You're impossible.”
“Again.”
His second attempt failed.
His third failed.
His fourth moved two inches.
Recovery wasn't cinematic.
It was repetition.
Failure.
Sweat.
Pain.
Tiny victories nobody else understood.
And Massimo worked harder than any patient I'd ever treated.
Then the threat arrived.
A package addressed to me.
Inside was my tuition notice.
The original.
The one that had been in my apartment.
Someone had entered my home.
Across the paper, written in black marker:
TAKE YOUR MONEY AND LEAVE HIM IN THE CHAIR.
Massimo saw it.
His expression became terrifying.
“No.”
I stood between him and the door.
“Whatever you're thinking, no.”
“They entered your home.”
“I know.”
“Because of me.”
“Because somebody is afraid.”
His eyes dropped to my hands.
“You should leave.”
That surprised me.
“Yesterday you wanted me to stay.”
“Yesterday they threatened me.”
“And today?”
“They threatened you.”
For the first time, I saw what powerlessness truly meant to Massimo.
It wasn't the wheelchair.
It was caring about something he couldn't control.
I touched his shoulder.
“I decide whether I stay.”
His eyes lifted.
“That's what you taught me, remember?”
“I taught you?”
“You've spent six weeks reminding me I don't control everything.”
A faint smile.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
His expression softened.
That moment could have become something else.
I stepped back.
I was still his therapist.
He was still my patient.
That boundary mattered.
Camila entered ten minutes later with Victor.
They had found the final piece.
Toll-road footage from the night of Massimo's accident showed Lorenzo's SUV following Massimo's Mercedes.
More importantly, another camera captured both vehicles stopping at an abandoned service station.
Massimo wasn't alone when he crashed.
Lorenzo had lied.
Victor placed a photograph on the table.
Lorenzo stood beside Massimo's car less than forty minutes before the collision.
And in his hand was a tool bag.
Massimo stared at it.
Then his phone rang.
Lorenzo.
Massimo answered.
His brother spoke before he could.
“I heard you took a step.”
Massimo's face became still.
Lorenzo laughed softly.
“That was your mistake.”
May you like
Then the line went dead.
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