At some point, though, they had all stared at him. They expected him to be broken, angry and sad. He joked about his legs. He was trying to move on. But there was no escaping all these people, all their pity and all their questions. Then his legs were always so sore.

He never asked any of his visitors to leave, but he was a private person, and here he was confined to this bed or his wheelchair. He felt as if he were on display — hurt, tired and vulnerable for all to see. He hated the hospital for that. But he kept this all to himself.

One night, just as his patience waned, Hurley arrived; seeing her was the best part of his day now. They had been together for about a year. He had decided he wanted to marry her, buy a house with her, start a new life with her. But he sensed her guilt. She said she loved him more now. She was more affectionate. They had figured out how to be intimate in his hospital bed. She just had to be careful of his legs.