Page 46

“Of course, of course.” Thompson nods, gentle. “But when the time comes, let us know. We’d love to celebrate his return.”

I nod, but it’s stiff, automatic. I can already feel the edges of the conversation scraping at my nerves.

“Oh, one more thing,” Thompson says, his voice lightening a little, almost like he’s trying to soften the moment. “I’ve been, uh, going through your father’s office at the church. There are some boxes, old notes, books, letters, that kind of thing. I didn’t want to get rid of anything without asking you first.”

My chest tightens. My gut twists, sharp and sudden.

“Boxes?” The word slips out before I can stop it, thinner than I meant it to sound. My fingers find the counter’s edge again, pressing until the wood bites back.

“Yes. They’ve been in storage since his accident. If you’d like, I can bring them by your house. Or you’re welcome to come pick them up.”

The thought of those boxes, filled with remnants of a man I’ve spent my life trying to escape, sends a shiver down my spine. “I’ll… let you know,” I manage.

His smile returns, softer this time. “Take your time, Lydia. And remember, you’re not alone in this. The entire town is behind you.”

The words hang there for a beat as he rises, extending his hand. I hesitate, just for a second before taking it. His grip is steady, firm, the kind that doesn’t waver.

“I’ll be praying for you and your father,” he says softly, then turns to Patsy with a polite nod. “Thank you for your time.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, I let out a slow breath, feeling the tight band across my chest finally ease.

Patsy’s watching me, brow slightly furrowed, curiosity flickering across her face. I shake my head before she can get a word out.

“I should go,” I say quickly, reaching for my bag. “There’s a lot to do before tomorrow.”

She doesn’t push, but I can feel her eyes on me as I walk out.

The harsh brightness of the rehab facility hits me the second I step off the elevator. Nurses move quickly through the halls, their voices blending into the steady beeping of monitors and the soft shuffle of carts.

A physical therapist, Erin, her nametag reads, meets me near the nurses’ station, clipboard tucked under her arm. She’s small, but there’s a sharpness to her, the kind of presence that fills a space. Her eyes flick over me, quick and assessing, like she’s already sizing up whether I can handle what’s coming.

“Lydia?” I nod. “You’re right on time. Ready to get started?” she asks, her voice brisk but not unkind.

I let out a breath. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We enter the therapy room where my father is seated in a specialized wheelchair. His vacant gaze remains fixed on the window, his expression unreadable. Erin begins explaining the equipment and techniques, her words blending into a haze as I focus on his still figure.

“We’ll start with basic range-of-motion exercises,” Erin says, demonstrating on his arm. “These help prevent contractures. That’s what we call it when the joints lock up from disuse. It’s not about recovery. It’s about keeping him comfortable and preventing pain. We’ve been doing them consistently throughout his stay. I’d like you to continue them at home. Use the same routine, every morning.”

I nod, though the motion feels disconnected from my body. When Erin gestures for me to step in, I hesitate for half a beat. Then I move.

My hand closes around his arm. Warm. Solid. Human. But the moment I touch him, a sharp stab goes through me. Not pain, exactly, more like revulsion braided with grief. My stomach flips. I feel unsteady on my feet.

“Good,” Erin says softly. “Now, slowly bend and extend his elbow.”

I move like a puppet, jerky, unsure. My fingers press against his skin, and my whole body stiffens. The contact makes my skin itch, like I’m touching something I shouldn’t, like I’m eight years old again and caught in the act of defiance.

Then, without warning, his voice floods my head.

That deep, measured tone, soaked in manipulation and scripture.

“Keep your shoulders straight, Lydia. Obedience is pleasing in the eyes of the Lord.”

My chest clamps tight. My throat dries. I blink fast, trying to stay here, in this sterile room, with Erin beside me and not him behind me.

“You okay?” Erin asks, her tone careful, eyes scanning my face. “You look a little pale.”

I force a smile, brittle and hollow. “I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed, I guess.”