The doctor’s voice still echoed in my head when I told Tyler the news—I might lose the ability to walk. But instead of support, I got disgust. “Is this an attention thing?” he scoffed. When I explained my condition, he asked if I expected him to push me around in a wheelchair. He said he didn’t sign up to be anyone’s nurse.
That night, he left. No apology. Just a note: Need time to think.
Days passed. Then I saw him online—laughing on a beach with another woman. My world collapsed… until I got a shocking call from my doctor. They’d made a mistake. I wasn’t sick—just low on calcium.
But the damage was done. Tyler showed me who he truly was. And when my grandmother passed shortly after, she left me everything—freedom, independence, and the means to rebuild.
Two weeks later, Tyler showed up with sad flowers and a sorry excuse. “I panicked… but I love you,” he said.
I stared at him and smiled coldly.
“You love me? Or the woman you thought would never walk again… now holding her own future—and her bank account—in both hands?”
