After His Heart Transplant My Husband Forgot His Daughter Chapter 11
After Renata’s arrest, I told my lawyer to reply with a single word: Received.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t ask how many years she would get. The scam was exposed, but my fingers weren’t growing back.
My mother threw all her energy into my rehabilitation.
Physical therapy was agony. Every time the damaged joints moved, it felt like needles grinding into bone. Day after day, Mom sat with me while I practiced gripping a foam ball, lifting my wrist, and learning to hold a pen all over again.
The art therapist gave me an adaptive pencil grip. At first the pen kept sliding out of the strap. Eventually I managed to draw a line that was only mostly crooked.
Four months later, on our way home from the therapy center, we saw someone standing outside our apartment building.
Grady had dropped at least thirty pounds. His cheeks were hollow, and his coat hung off his frame. A suitcase sat by his feet.
Mom stepped in front of me at once.
I didn’t hide. I just stood there and looked at him.
His eyes were red as he slowly crouched down.
“Elodie…”
He pulled a cashier’s check from his coat, his hand shaking so badly he could hardly keep hold of it.
“I put it all back. The 529 account. All forty-eight thousand, plus interest. I sold my share of the house. From now on, I’ll also—”
I took the small therapy whiteboard from my backpack and slid a pen into the adaptive grip.
Every stroke set my damaged hand trembling uncontrollably.
Grady stared, his gaze locked on the line I wrote.
The money came back. My fingers didn’t.
It was as if all the strength left his body at once. His legs buckled, and he sank to the ground.
“I was wrong… Elodie, I was so wrong. I don’t know how I can ever—”
I put the whiteboard away, walked around him, and went straight into the building.
Behind me, I heard a muffled sob.
I didn’t look back.