Melanie Moreland

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I can’t.”

“Richard, please,” I begged. “Let me in.”

He stared, his eyes wild. He spun the chair around and was gone.

He left me alone and broken.

“I’m not giving you what you need? What is it that you want, Richard? Please tell me, because I’m confused.”

“I want to be left alone. I’m tired of all of this.” I waved my hand.

Her eyes were filled with hurt. Hurt I had caused, yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“All of this?” she repeated. “You’re tired of our life? Our family?”

I scoffed, turning away, unable to look at her. “I’d hardly call this a life.”

“What defines who I am is gone, Katy!” I yelled. “I sit in this fucking chair every day. I can’t walk. I can’t go for a run. I can’t play with my children. I can’t make love to my wife. I can’t go into the office and be productive. I depend on you and strangers for everything. I’m trapped, and I fucking hate it!”