That night felt like a nightmare, one he desperately wished had been just a sick, twisted dream. But it wasn’t.

When August woke up in the hospital, the harsh reality hit him: he couldn’t move or feel his body from the waist down. That day felt like hell on earth, a direct result of his decision to drive his motorcycle while drunk out of his mind.

The blame was his alone, and now he was bound to a wheelchair for life. Adding insult to injury, he lost his job, plunging both him and his spouse into a sea of debt they struggled to manage.

August could see the toll it took on his lover—the stress, the exhaustion from juggling all the bills. His disability checks barely covered the basic necessities, quickly swallowed up by rent and other expenses. The guilt gnawed at him; he had thrust this burden upon his partner.

If only he could turn back time and undo his reckless mistake. He would have stayed home that night, far away from the bottle. The most agonizing part was that his spouse didn’t blame him, even though the fault was entirely his. The guilt was so overwhelming that he nearly contemplated divorcing his spouse to set them free. But his spouse’s gentle and kind-hearted nature kept him from doing so.

August wheeled himself into the living room, his heart aching as he saw his spouse bent over the table, working on the bills. He rolled closer, feeling the weight of his actions pressing down on him.

“Darling, can we talk?” he asked softly.