Marguerite wasn’t upset at all; in fact, she tried to see things from the other woman’s perspective. After all, they were both women—why make things harder for each other?
She’d seen people around her go through physical therapy before. She knew how grueling it could be, and that kind of pain was more than most people could bear.
So she couldn’t help feeling a little sympathetic.
“Alright,” she said gently, “just rest at home. Don’t wait up for me.”
He had no idea how long he’d be gone this time. The visit could take all night, and he didn’t want Marguerite sitting up, worrying.
After leaving the house, Leonard drove straight to the rehabilitation center.
When he arrived, the first thing he heard was the sound of objects crashing to the floor from inside Winifred’s room. Her temper was flaring—she was yelling at the staff, her voice echoing down the hallway.
Everyone understood why she was in such a foul mood these days, but the staff looked terrified when Leonard walked in. None of them would meet his gaze; their eyes darted away, as if hoping to disappear.
It must have been exhausting for them too, but what else could they do?
As soon as Winifred saw Leonard, her face—which had been twisted with anger and pain—crumbled. She looked utterly defeated, and tears began streaming down her cheeks.
Leonard had been as patient as he could. He kept trying to reason with her, refusing to simply walk away and let her give up.
“I know you’re doing all this for me,” Winifred choked out, “and I know how much time and energy you’ve spent on my behalf. But I just can’t do this anymore. You have no idea how much this hurts me.”
“I want to keep going, for you, I really do. But I can’t. Please, I’m begging you—let me leave. I just can’t take another day of this.”
Her pain was raw and real. She wasn’t exaggerating, not even a little—these days, every minute felt like an eternity.

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