Chapter 13 - THE WOMAN I ALMOST MARRIED
Arya asked to see me after her arrest.
I went.
Not because she deserved closure.
Because I did.
She sat behind glass wearing a plain detention uniform.
No diamonds.
No tailored dress.
No engagement ring.
I had removed it from her finger six hours after her arrest through my attorney.
“You look better,” she said.
I almost laughed.
“Therapy.”
Her eyes flickered.
“Tessa.”
“Yes.”
“She poisoned you against me.”
“No, Arya. You tried to poison me against myself.”
Her face hardened.
“You think I wanted you dead?”
“I read the letter.”
That silenced her.
For several seconds, she looked twenty years older.
“I was trapped.”
“So was I.”
“You don't understand Elaine.”
“I understand enough.”
“She owned Dominic. She owned the doctors. She owned everyone.”
“Not Tessa.”
Arya looked away.
That was the difference.
Tessa had needed money more than most people around me.
Yet she was the one person who refused it.
Arya had everything and still sold me.
Before I left, she whispered, “You don't know the worst part.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“The bullet wasn't supposed to hit your spine.”
I stared at her.
“What was it supposed to hit?”
“Your chest.”
The paralysis hadn't been the plan.
Death had.
For months, I had hated my wheelchair because I saw it as evidence of everything I lost.
Now I looked down at it differently.
The bullet that took my legs had missed my heart.
I was alive because the shooter missed.
Three weeks later, the first major hearing began.
Elaine faced conspiracy, fraud, financial crimes, obstruction, attempted murder charges, and charges related to my father's death investigation.
Arya agreed to cooperate.
Dominic surrendered every hidden account and accepted responsibility for the theft.
Monica entered protective custody.
Then something happened nobody expected.
During morning therapy, the therapist ran a blunt instrument along my left foot.
“Tell me if you feel anything.”
“Nothing.”
He moved higher.
Nothing.
Then across my ankle.
I frowned.
“Do that again.”
He did.
A faint sensation.
Almost imaginary.
Pressure.
Not movement.
Not recovery.
But something.
Tessa's eyes filled.
“Did you feel that?”
“I think so.”
The therapist warned us not to make assumptions.
T12 injuries were complicated.
Neurological return could be partial, limited, or meaningless.
I understood.
For once, I didn't need promises.
I only needed possibility.
Then my phone rang.
It was my attorney.
May you like
They had located the final backup recording from the night I was shot.
And it proved Elaine wasn't the highest person in the conspiracy.
