My husband brought his mistress into my hospital room hours after I gave birth. His mother sl.apped me so hard my newborn woke crying, then sneered, “Who will believe a paralyzed woman?”

“I’m trying.”

“Again.”

I concentrated.

My foot twitched.

Barely.

Maya grinned.

“There.”

I laughed.

“That was pathetic.”

“That was movement.”

“It looked like a dying fish.”

“It looked like nerve recovery.”

I cried again.

Three weeks later, I could bend my right knee slightly.

The left followed.

Then came standing.

Two therapists.

Parallel bars.

A brace.

Sweat pouring down my back.